


exhibitionist

by gincasy



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Infidelity, actors fall in love on set
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2020-10-05 11:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20488451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gincasy/pseuds/gincasy
Summary: Veronica thinks it’s funny how the one person on set that can’t stand her is always around, whether it be family dinners at Betty’s or sleepovers at Archie’s. And by “funny”, she means pretty fucking unfortunate.





	1. part i

**Author's Note:**

> sooooo, is this about jeronica or colemila? 
> 
> por que no los dos?
> 
> jk, this is a jeronica fic through and through! inspired by my very astute observations how some onscreen romances morphed into offscreen onces haha

Veronica likes parties. This party is definitely a fun party with the top shelf liquor and cheesy ice breakers, except this one kind of sucks. Especially when you're hiding out among the neatly pruned hedges and rosebushes on the 15000 square-acre mansion and trying not to have a public breakdown after receiving news about your criminal father's indictment. She doesn't think her future co-workers would see that and think 'what a great first impression!' She knows the entertainment industry, and first impressions count.

She checks her notifications. Nothing from her mother or, better yet, her publicist.

She hears footsteps on the grass behind her and wipes her damp eyes with the back of her hand. She knows her mascara running, but the fading light from the setting sun should be forgiving towards her.

"Veronica, are you alright?" Archie asks. "I saw you disappeared after Betty's toast."

Veronica smiles faintly. "Yeah, thanks for checking on me."

"Bad day?"

"An understatement." she says, lips pursing. She wants to say more but she's still just getting to know Archie and the rest of the cast.

"Family problems," she says slowly, watching his reaction.

"Ah."

It's enough to get the message across. The Lodge name is the subject of gossip much more frequently nowadays.

"That's rough. Well, I want you to know that you don't have to be scared of talking to me, to Betty, or anyone in the cast. We're a closely knit group, and you're not going to be judged, at least not from me."

Veronica nods.

The sunset has cast a flattering light on Archie's hair and Veronica understands why he holds the leading role in the show. He's every girl's crush in high school and Veronica can't deny that she's immune to the charm.

It only seems natural that they embrace, and they do. Veronica feels comforted. She can't remember that the last time she had physical contact with another person, non-sexual physical contact, of course. Definitely before rehab, she thinks. Her head rests on his shoulder and she can smell the detergent from his freshly-laundered sweater.

In her peripheral vision, Veronica notices movement, someone walking on the steps past the hedges to the front door. A late partygoer. Before she can react, an unfamiliar voice calls out "Archie?"

She pulls back from the hug and Archie does too. Veronica turns to identify the late partygoer and struggles to conceal her surprise when recognizes the face. She smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in the skirt of her dress. She worries the embrace may have appeared too intimate, too much like a private moment to any bystander.

The late partygoer is Jughead. Archie's childhood friend and Betty's boyfriend.

"Oh, Jughead, you're here," Archie says.

"Yeah," Jughead says, eyes darting between Veronica and Archie.

"Everyone's inside," Archie says, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Veronica feels obliged to introduce herself, especially since they're all be going to be working together in the near future. "I'm Veronica," she says, sticking out her hand.

"I heard." Jughead looks away distractedly. He squints at the flickering lights in the house and then looks down at Veronica's outstretched palm. He shakes her hand with one brusque jerk and mumbles "a pleasure."

"I need to speak to Betty," he says before leaving.

Archie looks as equally perplexed as Veronica. "Sorry, he's not usually like that."

Veronica wants to believe him but she swears that Jughead rolled his eyes when he said it was a pleasure.

It's in her nature to be imaginative, to play act, especially considering she's been acting practically all of her life. It's a second nature, playing the captured fairytale princess in the pillow fortress or acting alongside some 90210 or Beverly Hills alum making their television comeback (this fall, coming near you!).

Veronica play acts a lot in her head with Betty, slipping into the role of her secret understudy. She is well aware that Betty is the irreplaceable lead. They don't share as many scenes now since her character's arc has been wrapped up this season, i.e. she's only a guest cast member, not a recurring one, not yet at least. Still, Betty insists Veronica drop by whenever she can. So, Veronica runs lines with Betty in her ridiculously stuffy trailer in between scenes or drops by Shake Shack for strawberry milkshakes on Thursdays.

Betty is well-touted as the hardest worker on the entire cast. Her diligent work ethic is unmatched, a sentiment echoed among the cast and production crew alike. Everybody talks about how she is bound to be a breakout actress if she lands a franchise worthy of her intelligence, sweet demeanor, and star power charisma. Only two people, Veronica being one of them, know that Betty happily works overtime to avoid the alcohol-fueled spats of her on-the-brink-of-divorce parents.

It also explains why Betty has agreed to shoot late into the night on her birthday with no complaints or outlandish requests, other than "don't get me a cake, unless there will be enough to feed everyone on set!"

Veronica is there, of course, to wish her a 'Happy Birthday' and bestow her meticulously planned birthday gift, along with a card and inside joke.

She can see Betty's trailer in her line of sight, but stops in her tracks when she sees Jughead knock on the trailer door, his left hand clutching a bouquet of Stargazer lilies, Betty's favorite. Betty emerges with a head full of hot rollers and jumps into his arms before he can brandish the birthday flowers. They share a quick peck, which progresses into a deeper kiss and a locked embrace on Jughead's behalf.

Feeling like an accidental voyeur, Veronica shuts her eyes as if to afford them some privacy.

She wonders what it's like to have a bright future and someone to share that with. What it would feel like to be so universally loved and admired?

She imagines herself as the leading actress.

It's his arms wrapped around her shoulders. She smells the cloying fragrance of the lilies, which are now pressed against her back. The scent of the lilies intermingle with his cologne, a rush of olfactory sensations transporting her out of the dinky front door of her trailer. A welcome sensation after becoming so accustomed to the smell of burning hot rollers. His kiss is not a chaste one, but not gross enough to cause onlookers to recoil in the presence of unwarranted PDA. Her makeup artist will surely chide her as soon as she spots the smudged lipstick and errant hairs escaping her hot rollers.

The make-believe is nice while it lasts, but it feels dirty and wrong afterwords. She's not typecast as the girl next door for a reason.

The convention is manageable enough. Veronica can get through the individual interviews and paired interviews with ease. The photo ops are a slog to get through, but the ones including Jughead are worse. She can't shake the feeling that Jughead harbors some poorly veiled resentment towards her. One time, when she was regaling the cast with a particularly funny story about a lost wallet and a stripper's misplaced trench coat on New Year's Eve, she catches everyone but Jughead laughing. She can't forget his expression, mouth set in a tight line, like she had just insulted him personally. Even worse, when Veronica was comfortable enough in their friendship to venture into an inquiry with Betty, Betty responds with a resounding "He doesn't hate you!" that is suspiciously too quick and too rehearsed.

Thankfully, she strategically manages to make sure that she and Jughead always have a two-person buffer in between them. The panel stuff is trickier because she's the newbie. She can't spoil anything too revealing about her character or her arc on the upcoming season. After the first twenty or so times, Veronica starts to regurgitate her responses verbatim. You'll have to keep watching to find out, so tune in (Wednesdays at 9/8 central in October)!

Her joint interview with Betty and Jughead is bearable enough, but she figures it's primarily due to the presence of a bright-eyed girl-next-door blonde at their side.

The questions are straightforward enough:  
What's it like joining this cast?  
It's been a blessing. Everyone is so kind to me. It really feels like they're my second family.  
Can you tell me about your new character?  
She's the new girl in town. Not there to cause trouble so to say, even though she is a little desperate to put some parts of her past behind her.  
Who do you enjoy sharing scenes with?  
Betty, 100%. She's my best friend and my rock.

Rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat. She wishes the questions weren't such softballs but she knows she would still be complaining if they weren't.

The three of them are waiting in planned formation for an interviewer from a pop culture site: Veronica, Betty in the middle, and Jughead. The interviewer is setting up her mic when Betty shoots up from her chair, elbows knocking into both Veronica and Jughead. She shoots a harried look at her phone. She has to leave ASAP on account of Polly making an unexpected hospital visit. She is excessively apologetic but everyone from the camera guys to the event organizers is urging her to leave immediately. Betty's sudden departure has left the middle chair devoid of an inhabitant, something not unnoticed by the interviewer.

"One of you guys should take the middle seat," she says cheerfully, clapping her hands together.

Veronica looks at Jughead, his expression indecipherable. Neither of them volunteers.

Veronica speaks up. "We should just take out Betty's chair, so it doesn't look like we're missing someone."

"Oh, right," the interviewer replies, fixing her ponytail. "That's a much better idea. I'm Tanya by the way."

Veronica smooths her hair and adjusts her pearl necklace. She hopes her lipstick has not budged since kissing Betty a quick farewell.

"Great. Let's start. Jughead, tell me what you were thinking when you found out Veronica Lodge was joining the cast. I know your families are old family friends," she says.

Jughead's mouth twists and Veronica can feel her stomach dropping. She can't tell if the 'old family friends' is a malicious dig or an oblivious gaffe on the interviewer's behalf. It doesn't matter because Jughead has to blow past it; any microexpression is instantly perceived by the camera, or rather, the people watching through it.

"Uh, I was pretty surprised when I heard the news," he says. "In a good way. I've seen a lot of Veronica's movies when I was kid, so I was excited to hear that I would be acting along side her."

"Does she live up to your expectations?" Tanya presses, her tone playful.

"Not in least," Jughead deadpans.

Veronica coughs and fixes on him with a camera-approved glare, mean enough to get people talking but infused with enough friendly rivalry to fool the unaware onlooker. "Take that back, Jones. Everyone knows you don't mean it."

He smiles at her. "Of course not."

He clears his throat and turns to Tanya and the camera. "I mean it in the best way possible. Veronica Lodge's name is too big for any normal person to live up to. She's just like you and me."

Veronica laughs nervously. "I don't—"

"Relax, Veronica," Jughead interrupts. "I'm building up to my point here. I guess what I'm trying to say is that once you get to know her, you get to know her idiosyncrasies, just like anyone else. But that's just me."

"Interesting," Tanya says. "Anyway, Veronica, who do you like working with best out of everyone on the cast?"

"Not Jughead, that's for sure," Veronica says, winking. She makes an exaggerated sigh as if deep in thought. "If I have to pick someone, I would say Betty. Our characters share the most scenes this season and it's been such a revelation to get to know her on set and off set."

"Since you're such good friends with Betty, I assume all you three must spend a lot of time together off set as well?"

"Yeah, we all get along swimmingly," Jughead says.

"Ever feel like the third wheel, Veronica?" Tanya jokes.

"Never," Veronica says with a grin. "Jughead might feel differently though."

He makes a small noise of disapproval, but Tanya barrels right past it.

"You two are a hoot! Can the viewers expect any interaction between Josefina and Virgil, especially since Virgil is going to be distant from his friends after Ethan's death?"

"No—" Jughead begins.

"Actually, the viewers will have tune in this upcoming season to find out," Veronica says in her best radio show host voice. "Regardless, I can guarantee you that Josefina is going to be a very fun character to watch onscreen, clashing with the established characters as the newcomer. Maybe she stirs up trouble and drives a wedge between people, who knows?"

"I just got shivers down on my spine. You totally got me on the edge of my seat," Tanya gushes.

When they were getting facials at some spa with pretentious decor in downtown LA, Miriam recommended staying off all forms of social media indefinitely if Veronica ever wanted to have a so-called 'peace of mind.' Veronica had shrugged off the advice and made some witty remark how she learned to develop thick skin the moment she was criticized for having crooked teeth before hitting puberty. It comes with the job description, she said cheekily.

Regardless, Veronica opts to spend her downtime reading in Betty's trailer, in her hair and makeup chair, or in the passenger seat of Archie's car instead of mindlessly scrolling her feed.

Today, Veronica is nestled on a fold-up chair next to the water cooler, reading Capote's _Prayers Answered_ while Betty and Jughead shoot nearby for a forest scene. She doesn't have to rehearse her lines. She only says ten words before she jets off in a remarkably stale exit.

She sees someone approaching from her the corner of her vision. She takes a sip from her water cup.

"Veronica."

Jughead, she says to herself. She doesn't bother looking up from her book.

He pours himself a cup of water, takes a swig, and chews his cheek. He stares at her lap, trying to make out the cover of her book. "You know, you don't strike me as an avid reader of anything more than 280 characters."

"Or anything with no pretty pictures to look at? Duly noted."

"Do you mean comics or magazines? Because one could make the argument that comics are more intellectually stimulating..."

"I'm really not in the mood to be insulted today over my taste in literature," Veronica says, flipping a page.

"Let me guess. You've seen _Breakfast at Tiffany's_, maybe _In Cold Blood_ too. I can't be sure, and you were inspired to sample the written works of Truman Capote? If I were to guess, you probably only read books that have been adapted into films so you can deride it and claim to be cultured because the books are infinitely better to anyone with taste?"

Veronica snaps her book shut, folds her hands, and regards him with the most bluster she can manage, difficult when one is situated in a flimsy chair. "God, Jughead. This is how you make small talk with people?"

He shrugs.

"Just with me, huh?"

"With your kind."

"My kind? I beg your pardon, I didn't realize I hailed from the Oms of _La Planète sauvage_."

"You still on friendly terms with your Upper Eastside friends?" he asks nonchalantly .

"Not anymore. Not really 'my kind' since my rehab stint."

"You must resent them."

"No hard feelings to be found here."

"Really, not even a little bit? I heard that one of them traded some very personal info about you with a less than reputable gossip publication."

"Forgiven," Veronica says smiling.

"But not forgotten," he counters.

"Why do you care? Planning to capitalize on my juicy anecdotes for a little side income?"

"You would say you're becoming good friends with Betty and Archie, correct?"

Veronica purses her lips and tilts her head. "I like to think so."

"Then... " Jughead says and pauses for effect, "I'm just doing a bit of recon on person that my two closest friends have chosen, much to my continued and utter perplexity, to welcome into their lives."

"I haven't done anything that warrants any doubt about my value as a friend," Veronica says archly.

He points at the book in Veronica's hands. "Your reading of _Prayers Answered_ is a bit too on the nose to be dismissed. For me, at least."

"Do enlighten me."

"A petty person holding deep grudges against his society friends that abandoned him? Sounds like someone I know."

"Good thing you don't know me," Veronica says pointedly, cracking open the spine of her book. She resumes reading.

Veronica and Archie begin sleeping together three weeks into shooting, partly because Veronica doesn't have anything better going on and her life, and Archie isn't pushy like her past exes. She insists that they don't publicize it, because another co-star romance right now invites unflattering comparisons to the original co-star romance, e.g. Betty's and Jughead's on-screen and off-screen romance.

"I rather have it be casual for now, while I figure out some things," Veronica tells Archie, taking his hands into hers and maintaining eye contact, leaning slightly forward—excellent for establish trust with your romantic partner and friends, according to a smarmy counselor at rehab.

"Casual," Archie echoes. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Great," Veronica says, leaning back into the plush velvet recliner. "I'll see you tomorrow at Kevin's."

"Oh." Archie's forehead crinkles. "What are you doing now?"

"I've got at least 700 pages of _War and Peace_ left."

"Wow, isn't that a really long book?"

"You bet. It's going to be a long night with just me and Tolstoy."

Archie gets the hint to leave, not before giving Veronica a quick peck on the cheek. She doesn't feel anything.

She watches his outline disappear behind the door. Veronica takes several minutes pondering whether goodbye kisses are allowed in casual relationships. She decides they are not, but allows it this one time, only because Archie didn't know any better—this time.

On a nondescript Saturday, Jughead enlisted Veronica to be part of a video project he is planning for Betty, a commemoration of their one-year anniversary. He popped the question when she was hanging out at Archie's apartment, specifically the two-bedroom apartment he shares with Jughead. Veronica was surprised and Jughead knew it too. When he said, "I can't think a better way to surprise Betty if I include you in it." His worried expression did not match the sales pitch.

She said, "when you say it like that, I really can't refuse."

Surprisingly, he looked relieved. After that, Veronica took comfort in knowing that the offer was genuine.  
While they didn't have anything in common, at least they had Betty.

Since Betty lived with the rest of the Coopers and was rarely present at the apartment, it made sense for them to work on the video project there.

Tonight, they have a heated disagreement about Jughead's direction of the project. Veronica remembers drinking way too many cans of Yerba Mate, something which probably contributed to her restlessness. When she's restless, she doesn't back down.

Jughead yawns. They're both tired and over-caffeinated. Hours ago, Archie had thrown in the towel and submitted to a deep sleep in the room next door. They are down one referee to intervene in any scuffle.

Veronica thinks it started when Jughead insulted her work ethic, or rather her lack of one.

"Why don't you say what you really mean?" Veronica says. Her tone is as biting as she can make it. She has reached her breaking point of enduring the passive-aggressive criticisms. She crosses her arms, looking every part the disapproving partner.

"When have I not?"

"Trained actor. Takes one to know one, right?"

"You would not react as kindly as you do in front of cameras," he drawls, gesturing to the imaginary cameras, or rather lack of, in the living room.

Veronica smirks, digging her manicured fingers into the fluffy sheepskin rug. With the two of them, everything is always about being directed, being filmed, being watched, being seen. They might as well cast themselves in a theatrical production, starring them, written by them, and directed by them. Not to be the first to back down from a challenge, she accepts the invitation to put on a show.

She turns on the camera mounted on the tripod and angles it between them. She presses RECORD. Jughead is watching in feigned disinterest. He taps his chin in mock thought. "I highly doubt Betty would be intrigued by footage of us working'."

Veronica laughs lightly, causing Jughead's eyebrows to lift in mild surprise. She tempts him to wait and see.

Veronica sits down next to him on the rug and straightens her back. She scoots herself closer to him, closer to the center of the frame. She shoots a quick glance towards the camera and blurts out a cheeky "Take number seven! Let's get it right this time."

Jughead instinctively rolls his eyes. "Make it quick."

"As the actor slash director wishes," she retorts.

She closes her eyes in mock meditation as if mentally running through her lines before her big entrance. When she opens her eyes, she sets her gaze firmly on him, chin tilted up to meet him towering over her. "Jughead, let's dispel these salacious rumors and put the whole 'scandal' to rest. Tell me what you really think of me. You are a writer in your spare time, correct? Give me your some constructive criticism. And don't hold back, your girl can take it." She looks to the camera, offering a friendly wink to the audience.

He pauses, suddenly overcome with the inanity of the entire situation. "This—" he starts, swallowing.

"What do you really think of Veronica Lodge? Is she the spoiled Park Avenue princess?" Veronica prompts with the delivery of Lesley Stahl on 60 Minutes.

"Sure."

"Repeat the whole sentence. I need the soundbite."

"She is the spoiled Park Avenue princess as she claims to be," he says slowly, first to Veronica and then to the camera.

Veronica has an ugly grin plastered on her face, as if she's not the topic of question. "Fascinating. Can you elaborate more on the Lodge heir?" She extends her fist towards his chin and he recoils slightly. But she is only holding an imaginary microphone in his face, with the demeanor of a peskily persistent TV award presenter.

"Veronica," he says, a dire warning.

She does not retreat, and neither does he.

Jughead grabs her wrist in a vice-like grip, pulling her hands away from his face and towards the floor, out of frame of the video. He leans in, careful not to breathe. He does not want any part of him inhabiting her space, not even his exhaled carbon dioxide.

"I can barely stand you," he says.

Veronica does not react right away, but her eyes feel wet. It's her contact lenses. She should have taken them out hours ago. It's the kohl eyeliner in her waterline irritating her eyes. She pushes in closer though because maybe, just maybe, he's pulling a fast one over her.

"I can't work with you," he says. He says it with the casualty of returning a piece of defective merchandise. It doesn't work. It's faulty. It doesn't belong here.

She swears his eyes dart away at last second. She wonders if it's his tell, or if she just the desperate enough to start seeing things. How bad does she want to feel wanted?

"Why?" Veronica asks. She wants the words to be part of her pretense, but it comes off rawer than she intended.

"Your name will always precede whatever you do. Even if you are better than everyone else."

Her mouth opens. She desperately wishes she knows how to respond to that. A backhanded compliment hurts more than an outright insult right now.

Jughead reaches past Veronica and hits the button to stop recording. He stands up and leaves the room without a word.

Veronica is left sitting crosslegged on the rug, only crumpled energy drinks to keep her company. She is knocked out of her daze when the iMessage sound on her phone greets her eardrums with a familiar ping. She glances over at the message: 

_don't be concerned about the NYT op-ed about your father that's going to be published tmrw morning!! it's supposed to be damage control_  
_ \- miriam_

She sighs loudly. Who said the Lodges never got good PR?

The pool is surprisingly desolate at 3 am and Veronica is mildly discomforted by the lack of people, hotel staff, drunken guests, or overeager fans, or just anyone in their vicinity. It's just the four of them. Veronica doesn't believe they have ever been together in this type of capacity outside of the hotel either. There are always managers, producers, interviewers, and work colleagues right around the corner. It's slightly unnerving. Veronica doesn't want to dwell on it too much, unless she forgets how to act around the people she sees virtually everyday on set.

Sitting on the pool edge, Veronica has taken the precaution of rolling up her Christian Siriano dress as high as she possibly can to, hopefully, guarantee that the water only touches everything below her knees. Betty has done the same, only after coaxing from the other three. Archie and Jughead had renounced all pretenses of care, plunging into the 4-feet deep chlorine water, dry button-ups and dress pants a thing of the past.

"Veronica?" Archie says, offering a turn at the communal whiskey flask.

"I'll pass," she says, shaking her head and making small swirls in the water with her hands instead. The pool lights have illuminated everything in a calming blue light.

"C'mon, you know she just came out of rehab," Betty admonishes.

"Sorry, I—" Archie says, then pauses in deep thought. "I could've sworn you had a glass of rosé at dinner earlier today."

"About that... my sobriety has a few exceptions, like wine at five-course dinners or cocktails on the beach," Veronica says, shrugging. "No hard liquor stuff though."

Jughead rolls his eyes emphatically.

Veronica narrows her eyes at him. "I never claimed to be some kind of teetotaler."

"I didn't say anything," he deflects.

"Oh, please. Jughead, I can see you when you pull these faces while I talk," Veronica snaps. "Archie, you saw it, right?"

Archie coughs, eyeing both of them warily. He pretends to be fascinated by the porcelain tiles at the bottom of the pool. Betty, the braver of the two, initiates the first intervention by grasping Veronica's arm. "Let's not fight? I don't want tonight to end on a bad note."

"No fighting. I think we should air our issues and act civilly. Especially since there's no one around to hear us," Veronica says coldly.

Betty backs off—she doesn't have a better reason to object, but her mouth twists in concern.

"Archie?" Veronica asks again.

"Don't make him pick sides. That would be the antithesis of civil behavior," Jughead says.

"Archie?" Veronica repeats.

Archie lets out a nervous laugh. "I'm not going to pick sides, Veronica."

"Great—" Jughead interjects.

"—but Jughead, c'mon..." Archie continues. Jughead looks betrayed and Veronica has to suppress a smug smile creeping on her lips.

"What, Archie?" Jughead replies.

"You gotta admit that you eye-rolled pretty hard back there," Archie says, hands up in the air in exaggerated surrender.

"A little biased, aren't you, Archie? Sounds like you're picking your girlfriend's side right now," Jughead retorts.

"He's not," Veronica says. "We're not dating."

Jughead ignores her, still focused on Archie. "So, you're willing to side with someone, who you're not dating, but may date in the future, or may not—I don't know, do you? One thing for sure though, everyone knows you two are definitely fucking, whether it be the back of your trailer or an airport bathroom. Let me ask again: are you siding with Veronica Lodge?"

Archie has fallen silent. "Jughead, stop," Betty warns, eyes darting nervously between Veronica and her boyfriend. She looks ready to jump into the pool, dress and all, to drag Jughead away from the instigator of the whole confrontation.

The outburst has stunned Veronica, albeit only temporarily. She doesn't recall telling Betty about her airport bathroom incident, so she knows the source was Archie. Very amusing, since her old New York social circle used to accuse her of having loose lips.

"Betty, I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe Veronica was right," Jughead continues. "We need to air our issues because this is the only opportunity that the four of us will be together. No cameras, no bystanders, just us."

Betty stands up, withdrawing from the pool side and creating a puddle of water around here. She picks up her heels as if to take a firm stance. "This is a bad idea. Jughead, we can just leave. Everyone can cool off, clear our minds."

Jughead crosses his arms, the epitome of a petulant child.

Veronica huffs out a loud sigh. "Betty, don't leave. You're his girlfriend, not his babysitter."

Jughead lets out a scathing laugh and wades closer to Veronica's perch on the pool side. With Veronica sitting and Jughead standing, they are at equal heights, their line of sight directly pointed at each other.

"I have a better idea. Why don't you leave, Veronica?" he seethes.

Veronica doesn't dignify the question with a response.

"_Why_ are you even here?"

Veronica leans in closer and does her best to punctuate every following word with joyless detachment. "One, I must decline. Two, I'm here for the same reason you are. I'm not the type to turn down a social invitation from my friends."

"C'mon, I know your type—your type being the last type of person to befriend any one of us. We're just stepping stones for you to solidify your revamped image of a reformed Upper East Side party princess. Personally, I can't wait for the show producers to announce your newly minted status of cast regular, so you can go on morning talk shows to boast about your comeback from your tremendous hardships—namely, your father going to prison for some run-off-the-mill white-collar crime."

"Dude, what the fuck," Archie says quietly, the first time he has spoken in several minutes. Long enough that Veronica almost had forgotten he was there.

"She's not one of us," Jughead says to him. "I can't understand how you and Betty have become deceived by the trappings of Veronica Lodge. She is not worth the trouble."

Veronica balls up her hands into fists and resists the childish impulse to kick up water into his face. She cannot, however, resist her lifelong fantasy of enacting some run-off-the-mill petty revenge behavior from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. She jumps into the pool feet first (designer dress be damned), placing herself square in front of him.

The resulting mini tidal wave is enough to catch Jughead off guard and off balance, presenting Veronica with the opening to flatten her palm against his left cheek. It has the same effect as on any reality show, save the applicable sound effects. Veronica swears she hears Betty make a muffled gasp.

Jughead looks angry, naturally. Maybe two shades angrier than he was two minutes ago, but that's really not that much. He doesn't look that shocked though, which slightly unsettles Veronica—she was hoping for a bigger reaction, or maybe retaliation. He only touches his cheek, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

Yeah, she just slapped her co-star, her best friend's boyfriend, her not-boyfriend's best friend. Veronica tucks the offending hand behind her back, like concealing the murder weapon.

Betty finally breaks the silence, erupting into a peal of nervous laughter that morphs into laughter, which sounds very similar to authentic laugher. Veronica can't decide, seeing as how the whole situation is has escalated from a tense confrontation to a scripted argument on a daytime soap.

"Holy shit."

All four heads shift to the direction of the source: two teens crouching behind a trash can. One of them is holding a phone in a conspicuous recording position.

The first thought that comes to Veronica's mind is that she hopes that her publicist won't find out she was this reckless with a designer piece on loan. She'll find out soon enough, when the video inevitably gets posted on the internet to be shared, liked, and re-tweeted.

"Oh, fuck off," Betty mutters under her breath to no one in particular.

The hotel lobby is all reflective surfaces, shiny brass and Spanish marble. Everything is glaringly bright and shiny, so shiny. Every upscale lobby is the same. Expensive, shiny, and projecting that eerie atmosphere that time is immutable. It's the clerks, playing the sturdy sentries manning the front desk day in, day out. If the clock behind the desk wasn't there, anybody could lose track of the time.

The clerks, to their credit, don't pay them any unwarranted attention, even as Veronica squeaks across the marble in her bare feet, still damp from their recent foray into chlorine.

"Geez, Veronica," Archie gripes. "Can't you put on your shoes?"

Betty and Jughead exchange grim looks and turn to gauge Veronica, who has stopped in her tracks.

"My feet aren't dry yet," Veronica says to the lobby floor, and shakes her heels clutched in her left hand as some sort of hunting prize. "Plus, these are borrowed Louboutins."

Betty lets out a small sigh of relief, too quick for Archie to notice, but Veronica does—she has already become accustomed to her mannerisms. "It's fine, Arch. No one else is here. I think we're safe."

Archie shoots Veronica an unconvinced look. "Do you want me to carry you then?"

"Always the chivalrous gentleman. Where were you when your dear friend was insulting my honor?" Veronica says sanguinely. She misses the delivery though, because she should have been focusing on Archie. Instead, she stares right at Jughead the moment 'dear friend' rolls off her tongue. Jughead has the decency to appear a little bemused, but still mostly incensed. Anger does take longer take dissipate than most feelings after all.

Veronica wants Archie, or anyone, to say something. When no one does, she mutters, to no one in particular, "I'm such an unholy mess of a girl."

"I'm sorry?" Archie attempts, the reference flying over his head.

Veronica shakes her head.

Archie squeezes her shoulder and strides away to the elevators. Betty follows him.

Jughead lingers behind to scrutinize Veronica. He appears calmer than a few moments ago. He contemplates the next words to come out of his mouth, much to the bewilderment of Veronica.

"That's not conversation," he says with the briefest of smiles.

Veronica is grateful that he sounds apologetic. But she is more grateful that someone actually acknowledged her poorly timed pop culture reference.

"So, what's the damage?" Veronica asks.

"The what now?" Miriam replies. She is glued to her phone's screen, her thumbs tapping furiously against the tempered glass. "There is no—"

The Uber driver slams his brakes abruptly, causing both Veronica and her publicist to lurch forward and activate the seatbelt locking mechanism.

"Jesus, why?" Miriam says exasperatedly. The driver holds up his hand in an apologetic manner and mumbles a gruff apology.

Miriam shakes her head but seems to be more annoyed at her seatbelt than at him. She sighs loudly and slips her phone into her compact Celine handbag. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Miriam."

She turns to look at her. "Yes, Veronica?"

"How bad is it?"

Miriam grimaces dramatically and Veronica knows this non-verbal response by nature of past history: it's not great.

"It can't be possibly be any worse than that time you told me about the news of my father," Veronica reasons.

"That one doesn't count," she says wryly. "Your mother should have been the one to break the news to you."

Veronica tilts her head. "So what? I can take it."

"On its own, it isn't bad," Miriam opines, tapping the ledge of the car window. "It's just a rough hit to what I predicted would be smooth sailing since you landed the show."

Veronica attempts a sardonic smile. "Yeah, because this was supposed to be my comeback. Well?"

"There's a lot of speculation going on right now, which is good for us in that nobody really knows what transpired. It's bad because, well, speculation is always negative press. TMZ is hedging their bets on a subdued rendition of the Solange vs. Jay Z elevator fight."

"Oh, I'm Solange? I can't complain."

"Veronica, you should. You may come across as virtuous friend defending her best friend's honor, but Jones, though? He doesn't look good and there's so much history between your families that the press will feed on and—" Miriam stops and shoots Veronica a sharp look. "Sorry."

Veronica dismisses it with a wave of her hand. "What about the other speculation?"

"You and Jones were having a lover's quarrel."

"And why would Betty be there?"

Miriam shrugs. "Don't ask me. I'm not the one fabricating these wild theories."

"Next course of action?" Veronica asks. "I already talked to Betty about it this morning."

"Have a civil friendship with your best friend's boyfriend. CJ doesn't want any pop culture news sites to pick up that there's feuding among the cast members."

"Unlikely. I can only afford a maximum of one civil friendship with another co-star, and that's reserved for Betty."

Miriam clucks her tongue. "If you can't make it a real one, we'll just have to fake it in the meantime." She reaches into her bag for her phone, signaling the end of the conversation.

"You know, I told my publicist that this was excessive. A seven-second story with you in the background on my Instagram would be enough to suffice, I told her. It's better to provide as little information as possible so people can come to the right conclusion themselves," Veronica muses, staring into the dark waters of the Santa Monica Pier. She adjusts her cateye sunglasses, pushing them up. "I feel like we're one of those giant billboards on the sides of the 405, begging to be noticed. It's sad."

"Funny, I feel the same," Jughead says, distracted. He's too absorbed by the incoming slew of messages on his phone to notice that Veronica has turned her attention to him instead.

"Where was this agreeable version of you last week?"

"It is excessive. Betty doesn't like the PR-stunt element of the whole thing, but I think she's secretly relieved we're not going to have a physical altercation with all these witnesses here."

"It's not like cameras stopped us last time."

"We didn't know we were being recorded," he points out with a lopsided smirk.

"How did Betty get you to agree to this?" she inquires tentatively. All she knows is that Betty texted her a 'HE'LL DO IT' three days before.

"She's my girlfriend. I'll do it if she asks."

"Doubtful. Your desire to avoid me at all costs greatly outweighs your inclination to please Betty."

Jughead's eye flinches, a crack in the foundation of cool composure.

"I'm sensing a Lysistrata-type situation here. Am I close?"

"You think I agreed to this because Betty is holding a one-woman sex strike against me?" he says, incredulous. He doesn't have to say it, but Veronica knows he's thinking: You think that lowly of me?

"I don't know you, remember? It's a wild guess."

Jughead pinches the bridge of his nose. "Please don't make this any harder than it has to be, Veronica. I'll behave myself."

"Deal," Veronica replies, sticking out her hand. A formalization of an agreement. He can't refuse her offer. He glances down at her outstretched hand and hesitates. Veronica wonders if he's thinking of the night she introduced herself to him. She can't help feeling that she is always going to be the one who starts something first. He lets out a sigh and shakes her hand. This time, no eye roll. Eye contact, plain and simple. A deal.

Veronica does a quick scan of the bustling crowds on the pier. "You think we can go home as soon as we spot a pap? I haven't played Where's Waldo in ages, it'll be a refreshing change of pace."

"Sounds good to me."

"Oh, two-for-one, Jones. Keep it goin', I like this well-behaved side of you."

"Hilarious," he quips.

"What happens if we don't get photographed together being all chummy?" Veronica asks. "My publicist will not be happy."

"We would have to reconcile with the fact that this scripted social engagement just became a real one."

"If no pap is going to watch this mediocre B-movie written by hacks, I certainly don't want to watch it."

"Don't you know it, Lodge."

The venture to the pier may have been a complete bust. Aside from a few selfies with a teen and her mom, Veronica doesn't think they have been getting the right type of attention, i.e. the attention that comes with publicized photos, splashed across the pages of online gossip blogs or social media sites. It probably doesn't matter because they have to pay a visit to the Getty for Part 2 of their script anyway.

They're sitting at one of the benches, stopping for a discreet photo op by pretending to admire Alfred Stieglitz's Hands of Georgia O'Keeffee.

"It would have been more believable if we went to the movies or something," Jughead laments, staring directly at the O'Keeffee. He leans back on his palms, forcing Veronica to migrate left due to the intrusion of personal space.

Veronica examines her chipped manicure. "A dark auditorium? Not the best venue for our agenda."

"Well I'd prefer that this entire day doesn't entirely go to waste."

"What would you rather be doing?"

He shifts his weight, turning to face her full on. "I'd rather be in a dark auditorium, watching pictures that move, and overhauling my digestive tract with popcorn, preferably the type with buttery calories in the quadruple digits."

"I'm not stopping you, Jughead."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just saying it'd be a lot more enjoyable than this," he says, gesturing to the art pieces surrounding them. "There's actually a place downtown showing Strangers on a Train from now until midnight. You heard of it?"

"I'm not going to go with you."

He laughs, a real unscripted one. "I'm not asking."

Veronica bristles. "Yeah, I've already seen it, and multiple other selections of Hitchcock's catalogue, so thank you very much."

He has the audacity to look vaguely surprised. "You've seen it?"

"You know that you don't have a monopoly over the title of hipster cinephile that only enjoys consuming classics and dissecting the downhill quality of neverending reboots and remakes, right? Geez, I know that Archie and Betty are your best friends but you need to branch out more, especially in terms of your friends."

"Alright, film snob. Let's name our favorite Hitchcock movie on the count of three."

She rolls her eyes for the sake of appearances. "Fine."

"One. Two. . ."

The final count of three never comes on time. Veronica and Jughead are locked in an impromptu staring contest. She studies his face for any previously concealed intention of a joke, but there is none. He leans closer towards her, and for a second, Veronica thinks he wants to whisper something in her ear.

"Jughead, what—"

"Act cool. There's a fan filming us on her phone right behind you. It's going to be the closest we're getting to some camera exposure today."

"Should I produce a giggle at your expense? I'm assuming you're pretending to tell me an inside joke."

He doesn't pull away from her, his face still near hers. She can feel his breath on her cheek. It is requiring a conscious effort on her part to not pull away. "Nah. That would be too on the nose."

"What should I do then?"

"Just don't slap me again," he says with a wry grin. "I don't wanna start jumpstart a sequel just yet."

Veronica is sleeping over at Archie's (it's an innocent sleepover) when she receives a text from Betty in the dead of the morning.

  
_VERONICA_  
_ VEE_  
_ you wont believe what happens with josefina in ep 7!!_  
_ when CJ told me there was gonna be a shakeup, i flipped_  
_ wait_  
_ oh, shit...._  
_ have you read the new scripts yet???_

Veronica smiles despite herself, feeling comforted and relieved that Betty cares more about the welfare of her character than her agent. 

_No I haven't...._  
_ DO I DIE?!_  
_ should i read the script right now then?_

_no of course not!! i'd be inciting a riot and storming CJ's office if they even brought up your death on the writer's table_

_put me out of my suspense, B_

_YOU AND JUGHEAD KISS_  
_ i mean josefina and virgil HAHAHA_  
_ isn't that funny?_  
_ you know i'm gonna be on set for that scene! _

Veronica lets out a loud guffaw when she see the notifications on her lockscreen. Almost loud enough to awaken Archie, who is peacefully snoring beside her in the king bed and thankfully does not stir in his slumber.

She re-reads the message three times before deciding that it would have funnier if she had actually died in the episode. Much, much funnier.

The shooting of the dreaded episode comes faster than she can anticipate. Veronica is anxious as hell, and it shows in her rigid posture when she is guzzling sangria and sampling tapas with Betty, Archie, and Kevin during Happy Hour. Kevin and Betty have rushed off to play a round of pool. Only Veronica and Archie remain in their sticky booth.

"Slow down, Ronnie," Archie teases playfully, but the pet name incites Veronica to pick a fight.

"Why?"

"Aren't you shooting at six tomorrow morning? You wouldn't want a massive hangover," he says, forehead creasing in concern.

Veronica takes another sip, gripping her glass tightly. "You can't get drunk off sangria, Arch. It's physically impossible. I would know because I've tried."

"Nervous?"

"How could you tell?" Veronica snarks, eyebrows arched.

"Betty's cool with it. I don't know why you aren't."

"Oh, I'm definitely cool with it. I'm just not sure the legions of fans devoted to Anna's and Virgil's everlasting epic romance will see it the same way.

Archie shrugs. "It's not a big deal."

"I know—"

"No, I was trying to say that the episode is a fake-out. Any viewer can see that you're not the home-wrecker that breaks up Anna and Virgil. It's an imagined alternate timeline where Virgil and Josefina could be together. Any kiss is erased by the next episode."

Veronica lets out a loud sigh. "Yeah." She stares at her hands, twisting the straw wrapper between her fingers. "You know, all the writers are touting this episode as innovative and original, but it just feels like an homage to "The Parallel", not even a good one. It's really a subpar knockoff trying to pass off as a heartfelt tribute."

Archie looks at her, confused. "'The Parallel'?"

"_The Twilight Zone_?"

"Oh, right." Archie offers his tried-and-true boyish smile and squeezes her hand as if in agreement.

Veronica can't find the energy to return his smile or lecture him on the specifics of a critically acclaimed anthology television series.

The day of shooting, Veronica already has the lines memorized, from each vowel to last syllable. She can't quite figure out how to approach the pauses, the weighted glances, but then again, that's what the director is there for—to sort out the logistics of the unfolding scene and then extrapolate the body language from the script pages to the screen. Director's job, not hers.

Veronica is already in full costume, having sat through hair and makeup for a solid hour and a half, and another hour putting on a real wrist cast because alternate Josefina is a clumsy ditz. The cast itches like the real thing and Veronica is less than amused.

She opts to rehearse lines in the empty studio lot next door instead of her trailer, which becomes increasingly more claustrophobic the closer the big hand on the clock approaches the seven. Earlier, she had hastily shouted at one of the new fresh-faced production assistants to come retrieve her when they were ready for her. Now, she is second-guessing whether that PA was actually even working for their show.

She makes up her mind to delay the inevitable by hitting the restrooms first. She takes several steps before hearing steady footsteps on the concrete behind her.

"Not getting cold feet are you?"

She hears the words first before she can see him. She stops, and turns to see him in full costume—like her, because they're sharing the next scene together, obviously.

He's not dressed like Virgil—because he's not him, or the version of Virgil that she knows anyway. Instead of his signature leather jacket, he's got on a plaid button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows and collar popped high. If Veronica wasn't so preoccupied with nerves, she would have gotten out a decent zinger on his new attire if he let her.

"Just hitting the ladies'," she says nonchalantly, "before we go, ya know. . ." and gestures toward the direction of the set.

"Oh." He sounds a little disappointed Veronica has declined his invitation to verbally spar.

"Do they need me on set right now?" Veronica asks.

"Yeah, in like half an hour, so it's cool."

"Great."

Veronica makes no move to leave, eyes fixed on Jughead, who he also looks preoccupied with nerves.

He coughs and looks around the lot. "I came to get you because I was approached—or rather, assaulted by a new PA from the show filming next door, who was in dire straits, because how could he possibly retrieve you at 7:45 and make a coffee run to the Starbucks five blocks from here because our café is not up to the standards of his boss, the head writer, and the showrunner? You know, he interrupted my breakfast, a ham and cheese croissant sandwich, and everyone knows I take my food time very seriously, so I can confidently say he really needed my help if he was willing to risk my hunger-induced wrath."

He looks so earnest that Veronica laughs. She thinks this disposition complements his current costume very well. Tamed and endearingly boyish. The version that Betty and Archie get to see on a daily basis. The version that Veronica got fleeting glimpses of on their publicity stunt.

"My hero," she says exaggeratedly, placing a hand over her heart.

Jughead laughs too. "I think you mean, 'his hero', because I saved his ass more than yours."

"I don't think heroes should be classifying their civilian rescues by order of ranking importance."

"Well, I think a newbie PA stands to lose more than an established actress, who's securely in the good graces of numerous screenwriters and the head showrunner. I'm talking about consequences worse than getting fired, perhaps getting blacklisted for returning with lukewarm caramel macchiatos and slushy matcha frappés?"

"As a distinguished actress, I definitely I have more to lose. My fall from grace would be utterly catastrophic, à la a royal king's downfall in a Greek tragedy. It would probably span generations, affecting my unborn children. My only surviving daughter would have to live with the legacy of shame."

"You're not seriously comparing yourself to Oedipus, are you?" he replies with a hearty chuckle.

"You tell me. I never paid much attention during the drama unit of English Lit," she says. "Anyway, I'm definitely not in the good graces of the writers, otherwise we wouldn't even be shooting."

Jughead rubs the back of his neck. "You make it sound worse than getting offed. You're still getting your paycheck next season, I'm sure of it, Lodge."

His tone is measured and even, but she can't help but feel that he wants to add: "It can't be possibly be that bad, right?" She could be projecting, though. His appearance is doing a little to reassure her. He doesn't dress like Jughead and he doesn't behave like him either. He's too nice, too friendly. It's acting, she's acting, he's acting.

"Let's just get it over with," she blurts out, as if 'it' is equivalent to getting over a bad case of food poisoning. "I feel a lot better when it's behind me."

"Yeah, okay."

Veronica starts to move when Jughead grabs her wrist, or rather, her bulky wrist cast. "Wait, I think you forgot Josefina's glasses. Wait here." He sprints towards the middle of the studio lot, where her glasses, or Josefina's, has been haphazardly discarded and picks it up. As he approaches Veronica, she holds out her free hand.

"Nah, you're injured."

Veronica protests, but allows him to step closer to her, close enough that their toes are almost touching. His hands hover near her temples, a pause provides the window for Veronica to flutter her eyes shut, inadvertently, practically out of instinct. Like how a person on the receiving end of a kiss closes their eyes when someone gets close.

Jughead puts the wire-rim frames on her face with the gentleness of a king crowning his queen. He steps back to examine his handiwork. Veronica makes a stylized show of flipping her hair and pouting prettily.

"How do I look?"

"So much better. I can buy Virgil secretly being into nerdy girls."

Veronica rolls her eyes. "My hero," she mouths.

They are both silent as they traverse the studio lot to the shooting location. It's better that way, Veronica thinks. She can't bear to think that Jughead has miraculously gained the capability to be the genial co-star when there are no cameras around.

They arrive on set with little fanfare. Their arrival is overshadowed by the commotion of a feuding grip boy and makeup artist.

Betty is the first to notice them. "We were just about to send a search team for you two, thank God. What happened?"

Jughead shrugs and reaches over to playfully tug on Betty's ponytail. "Lodge. Miss Lina Lamont over here couldn't be bothered to remember any of our PAs and entrusted a beleaguered PA from an entirely different show with her main responsibility."

Betty's face drops a little. She looks ready to lecture him about stopping these thinly veiled jabs at Veronica. Veronica is grateful for that. She directs a 'thank you' smile to Betty.

"I'm used to it," Veronica says.

Yet, Veronica feels like something has changed. Veronica can't quite pinpoint the exact cause, but if she had to guess, it's Jughead's delivery. For once, he actually sounds like he is half-joking about the whole thing.

The scene is simple enough. A girl, a boy, and a contrived circumstance that lead up to an unearned, writer-mandated kiss but will have the audience undoubtedly cheering for them because they're young, attractive, and look good together.

Veronica, or rather alternate Josefina, has the misfortune to be losing a nonexistent battle with a sturdy vending machine. The prize? A bag of generic chips (because broadcast television doesn't allow accidental advertising of real brands without some hefty sponsorship). As luck would have it, Josefina's plight is noticed by Virgil, who takes it upon himself to save the poor damsel, wrist maimed and no ability to procure the prize from the vending machine slot. As fate would have it, they end up sharing a heartfelt smooch.

Veronica think it's pretty bland reimagining of an alternate timeline, especially with these characters engaged in some sort of romantic tryst.

Yet, her palms are sweaty before the cameras even begin rolling. She is perspiring in the temperature-controlled set and there are no glaring studio lights to account for her unwarranted bodily function.

It's stupid because Jughead doesn't even seem remotely uneasy. He only nods, listening intently to the director who is whispering instructions in his ear. Veronica does not receive any formal stage directions. This does not soothe Veronica's qualms. She alternates between wiping her palms on her pleated skirt, or pushing up the non-prescriptive glasses up the bridge of her nose, or tugging her shirt collar.

The first two takes of the scene are absolute duds.

Veronica is eternally relieved because she can say that neither of those are her fault. The relief is short-lived. She is struck wit the is a predetermined law that requires either Jughead or Veronica to screw up something, necessitating many more takes.

The first time Jughead messes up because he dissolves into laughter when he tilts his head down to bridge the distance between their mouths. "Shit, sorry," he says and explains that Veronica had the most terrified look on her face, causing him to break character—which, fuck no? Veronica begs to differ. He's projecting, he has to be. His breaking is already putting her on edge. No one, least of all him, should be getting some laughs out of this.

The second time starts off with no hitch, everyone nails their right cues and lines. It's going, going, and yes, it's going to end, ending soon, ending in sight—"Stop, don't move."

Veronica sucks in a breath, fighting the instinct to leap away. She has frozen in place the worst place possible, her hans hovering lightly over the top of his shoulder.

The director walks over to them, wry smile and apologetic demeanor in place. "Sorry, guys. It looks good, but I just want another take for post." She gets closer to them, and in a low voice that only they can hear, says "Jughead, you don't have to look so scared. Relax. Let's do it from the top."

They break away from each other. Normally, Veronica would feel smug—she was right, he was totally projecting, but she can't help getting caught up in the moment. Replaying it her mind. Why was he scared? He doesn't have anything to feel or not feel, unless there—Veronica stops herself from letting her mind get ahead of her.

She steals a glance at him and he responds in turn with a non-verbal look that screams "What?"

It's not that deep, Veronica.

Needless to say, Veronica screws up the following four takes all by her self. It's quite impressive.

(1) Veronica suddenly can't remember what to do with her hands. The stupid wrist cast, the real wrist cast, the one that took hours to put on, is hindering her ability to function like a normal person, much less act in a scene. She nearly knocks both of them off balance when she brings up her cast to serve as the barrier between their chests.

(2) Not to be the one to quickly learn from her mistakes, Veronica ends up using the cast to accidentally smash the bag of chips. It's fake, but prop chips can be deflated like real ones, who knew?

(3) Veronica dislodges her glasses when she pushes them up with the wrong hand, you know, the one in the cast. She blames the glasses for her subpar vision and her headache, and yeah, she knows you can't get eye fatigue from non-prescription frames. Do-over.

(4) She leans in too enthusiastically during the second kiss, her glasses colliding roughly with Jughead's face with a loud thwack. Their mouths don't come in contact at all, and Jughead rubs the bridge of nose with a resounding 'Ow!'.

It feels like a deus ex machina when the an executive producer calls for temporary wrap. Shooting will be resumed after lunch.

Veronica does not have the appetite for lunch. She knows a particular someone that cannot fathom skipping a meal will be in the vicinity of the chicken paninis and falafel hummus wraps. A merry coincidence that she cannot stand the smell of food right now and that's just fine with her. She can live without the carbs for a few hours. Instead, she takes refuge in the bathroom stall like an awkward teen choosing self-imposed isolation over humiliation in a high school cafeteria.

It's not like this is the first time she has kissed another co-star on screen, but it feels wrong. Like the both of them are running off-kilter and every attempt to adjust their trajectory is a step in the wrong direction.

Or she's overthinking it, Veronica reasons. Her new rehabilitated image requires an extensive upkeep and she's bound to make a few errors along the way. It's the breaking point.

She paces back and forth for a little bit, then figures there's no one around to judge her anyway. She types in a few select keywords in the Youtube search bar and taps on the clip she's looking for: a scene of Virgil declaring his love for Anna. Technically, she's looking for the kiss scene in particular.

It's dumb, it's stupid, yet Veronica can't rationalize another solution. Veronica wonders if she can take some pointers from Betty.

It's just acting.

She watches her phone screen intently, rewinding and fast-forwarding through the clip to get to the desired timestamp. She watches Betty, takes mental notes on every physical touch, every blink, every pause for breath. She is an actress. Who else is more qualified to play Betty than someone who knows her?

"Alright... and rolling!"

Everything in the background sounds muffled when Veronica is doing her damndest to not screw up. Of course, this only amplifies her the sound of her pounding heartbeat and the blood rushing to her ears. She feels like a sleep-deprived student drawing a complete blank during the eight o'clock final exam. There is a lag between 'rolling' and Veronica's mental recognition of the words. It takes Jughead mouthing 'Ready?' at her to disrupt her fog.

He hands her the prop. They talk. He kisses her. End scene.

Easy now, especially since she has done this before. She can't get worse with each consecutive attempt.

He rises from his kneeling position at the vending machine slot, handing Veronica the prop like handing off a baton. Easy.

He watches her jump for joy. Her high spirits, a grin painted over her face, is infectious. They're both in celebratory moods, a laugh away from being considered thick as thieves. He steps closer and recites, "If I knew that rescuing chips from rogue vending machines would make you this happy, I'd do it more often."

She tilts her head to the side, a doubtful expression behind her frames, but a mirthful smile on her lips. They watch each other closely. His eyes drift to her mouth and he initiates the rest, a gradual lean in and eyes closed.

Veronica knows this is the part where they cut to a closeup. Now she feels all too aware of the cameras closing in on her. She reasons that her impending feeling of claustrophobia caused her to deviate from the script that very split second.

She pushes him back with her good hand. He staggers back, both Jughead and Virgil wearing identical expressions of surprise. "I can't believe you just did that," he spits out.

Veronica laughs in despite of herself. She can't believe she did that either. She muses that she has solidified her reputation as the hysterical diva who can't follow simple stage directions. The poor Lodge girl never really came back sane after her sojourn in rehab.

The cameras are still rolling, however, and there are no indications to halt the progression of events. Everyone watching is just as shocked as her. Jughead rakes his hands through his hair and turns to look at the director for instructions on how to proceed. Without a word, Veronica closes in on him, lifts her face to meet his, and kisses him.

Like a grand revelation, Veronica remembers all the little lessons and mental notes taken in a vacated bathroom stall. Betty would first hold the collar of his shirt, then reach for the nape of his neck, and finally graze his face with her hands, deepening the kiss. Veronica does all those things in sequence, save for using one hand instead of two, thanks to a bothersome cast. Unlike Betty though, Veronica has to stand on her tiptoes to reach him. There is a greater divide between them, both physical and personality wise.

Veronica doesn't expect him to follow her lead, but he does, without hesitation—like it was choreographed in the script all along. His hands slide down and find purchase on her waist, just like he does with Betty, Veronica can envision it now that her eyes are closed. She can see the rest of it too. He kisses her back with the same forwardness he does with Betty, except there's something else she does not recall. He is warm and tender, like she imagines him to be like when he is with Betty. It's intimacy increased tenfold because he's the stereotypical loner. Only one lucky girl can be his sole confidant.

After they break apart, both a little breathless, Veronica realizes what she had missed. When he looks at her post-kiss, he looks untempered, like their facilitated foray into a flight of fancy wasn't enough. He wanted more. The cameras might have been the only thing keeping them from stopping.

End scene.

Now they have done of the brunt of the hard work, they can call it a day. Amid the chaos of shifting lights and crew members, Jughead extends his hand to Veronica as if completing a business transaction.

"Not bad, Lodge," he says. "Good job."

"Yeah, you too," Veronica says. She takes his hand and shakes it firmly, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact.

Veronica is unnerved, not because of his expression, but because she thinks he initiated a handshake to deflect from their imagined transgression.

Veronica goes home that day without a chance to speak to Betty. She can't help checking her phone repeatedly throughout the night, desperately hoping for any type of notification to pop up. After five messages from Archie, she shakes her head in frustration. She doesn't know what she wants Betty to say to her. Veronica knows that she can't possibly expect a congratulations on that scene today—particularly, that one scene where she goes wildly off script and kisses her onscreen/offscreen boyfriend.

Maybe Veronica just wants reassurance that it's fine. It's fine because it was fake, everyone was watching and they could see it was not real. Nothing has happened, or will happen, between Veronica Lodge and Jughead Jones.


	2. part ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @ writers, please give us more jeronica scenes because i don't think i can muster enough creativity to create more content for myself.... anyway, here's to hoping we get more jeronica content in the year of 2020, friends, so cheers!

“How long should I talk for?” Veronica smooths down flyaway strands of hair and stares straight ahead, trying to not blink frequently. She is reminded of the sweat-inducing pressure of being gawked at during a taped audition. Her behavior before and after the audition matters as much as it does during the process.

Jughead’s face is obscured from view, thankfully, but she is acutely aware that he is looking at her. He is the self-appointed director of the untitled video project, an anniversary gift for Betty, who had no choice but to cast his girlfriend’s best friend in a short segment.

They do not speak of the last time they worked on the project together.

Veronica wants to believe they are continuing where they left on Jughead’s original plan but she knows that he had likely scrapped that project for a new one, with her in a decidedly more limited role. She can still remember his pointed remarks like it was yesterday. Technically, it was the day before yesterday.

“I’ll play you off the stage if your speech exceeds the time limit, “ he deadpans.

Veronica wants to snipe back ‘_I’m doing you a favor here, bud_’ but she bites back the words. He can cut her out of the project all together. For all she knows, she’s the glorified extra. Despite her reservations about the whole thing, she still wants to be included—for Betty’s sake, not his.

“I’m ready.”  
  
Jughead gives her a thumbs up.

Veronica takes a deep breath, steels her nonexistent nerves, and proceeds. She tries to not dwell on the unnatural way her voice wavers without a script to guide it and keep it steady, her cadence halting when she tries to articulate how grateful she is to be considered Betty’s friend, her best friend at that, and ignores how many times she has to clear her throat when she almost tears up, thinking about how Betty was the first person to extend her kindness towards Veronica, and she can’t keep up, stumbling over the words, which come out of her mouth even faster than her racing thoughts. When she finishes her monologue, she has to catch her breath like she has been climbing uphill for miles.

“Alright, I’m done.”

Jughead stops the recording. “Thanks, Veronica.”

Veronica rubs her eyes and presses her lips together. She studies his face intently, only because she wants to determine whether he is pleased with her performance. She expects him to mock her cloying delivery and demand a do-over. When he says nothing else and fiddles with the settings on the camera, Veronica switches tactics.

“Will you be in touch?” she asks, a last-ditch effort to lighten up the mood.

He gives her a puzzled look. Stubborn enough to refuse to alleviate the tense atmosphere, or just oblivious.

“If I get the part?” Veronica prompts.

“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head a little with a slanted smile. “I’ll be in touch.”

“So, what did you do?” Kevin presses.

Everyone is waiting in hushed anticipation. Any other person would be daunted by the mere feat of entertaining the attention of twenty plus people, but Veronica thrives in the spotlight. Veronica holds up a hand to signal ‘_wait_’ as she gulps down some sparkling water to soothe her thirst, brought on by a very convoluted funny story with several taxing celebrity impressions. She feels everyone’s eyes on her as she tips the glass back to drink. In the process, she bumps elbows with Kevin on her right. He’s already sitting super close to her, chair angled towards her, much like everyone else at the dinner table. Everyone is engrossed by her story.

Veronica sets her glass down and spots Jughead on the far opposite side of the table. He has his hand covering his mouth, making it tricky to see whether he’s smiling like everyone else or he’s biding the seconds until her one-woman dinner table production is finished.

“A proper storyteller never rushes her performance,” Veronica says cheekily.

“You attention whore,” Kevin says grinning and playfully smacks her arm.

Veronica flips her hair for effect. “Have I ever claimed to be anything else?”

The climax of the story comes and goes and it’s a clear success. Widespread laughs elicited from attendees around the dinner table. Veronica can’t deny that there is no better feeling than getting a group of people to laugh until they cry when you milk the story just right. Archie is hooting and howling, turning pink in the face. Betty is groaning loudly, saying things like “it’s not _that_ funny”, but she’s smiling as much as any of them.

Jughead is not discreet with his reaction. It’s not a big, showy reaction, like ‘_hey ma, look at me!_’, but it’s still there, swept under the confines of polite interest. The type of reaction that manages to stay unnoticed, but can easily be spotted by a trained eye after countless hours of practice. With his elbows propped up on the tablecloth and hand covering the lower half of his face, he is shaking with restrained laughter. She wishes, oh, how she wishes, that he would withdraw his hand so she can see him grinning like everyone else because he’s not special. He’s not immune to her appeal, especially not all the time.

Veronica feels like she can take on the world. The feeling is exhilarating, a delightful spark traversing right down from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. All she feels is warmth, from everyone surrounding her and from the soft glow from the decorative candles. There’s no feeling better than getting loud laughs from people you like, but she can tolerate a policy for special exceptions. Especially during a night like this, when that feeling is getting your purported enemy to laugh at an insanely stupid anecdote, courtesy of yours truly.

The four of them are patrolling the streets in the downtown area after an unanimously delicious dinner at some hyped up Brazilian steakhouse. They’re obnoxious and loud, taking up the entire sidewalk, with Veronica linking arms with Archie, Betty with Jughead. Veronica spots a tiny bookstore, wedged between two coffee shops, and she lets out an elated yelp, borderline hysterical. She drops Archie’s arm and sprints ahead wildly in zig zags, her heeled boots making it hard to stride forward in a straight line, abandoning the group to get a closer glance at a whimsical advertisement for secondhand books.

“Oh my god! You guys!” Veronica squeals, nearly jumping up and down in excitement. She clasps her mitten-clad hands together. “We. Have. To. Go. Inside.”

Betty laughs. “Vee, you’re going to spend three hours in there. Minimum! The rest of us are going to be bored out of our minds.”

Archie approaches Veronica and examines the sign. “I agree. I also don’t really enjoy the smell of old books.”

“You don’t?” Veronica says incredulously. She feigns mock horror.

Betty elbows Archie. “Shush, Arch. You do not want to out yourself as a book-hating jock.”

Archie swats her arm away. “Regular books are my friends. Old, musty books are not. Who likes the smell of old books?”

“I do,” Veronica proclaims. “It smells heavenly.”

“Hard disagree,” Betty says.

Jughead doesn’t interject with his feelings about the sensory quality of musty books. Even Betty admitted earlier to Veronica that Jughead was preoccupied with other things on his mind, evidenced by Betty being forced into dragging him out of the hotel room. Earlier, Betty had confided to Veronica in private that she suspected he was unusually stressed about a freelance project that he was doing for a friend. Even at dinner, Jughead could barely muster a hearty enthusiasm for the numerous selections of meats.

“The smell can’t hurt you,” Veronica says, pleading. “C’mon, I promise to leave within an hour.”

Archie and Betty shake their head in disbelief with apologetic smiles. They’ve fallen for this trick before.

“How about this?” Betty proposes. “We’ll head back to the hotel room first while Veronica is free to browse at her leisure, without us hounding her to leave. Everyone wins.”

Veronica sighs dramatically and shrugs her shoulders. “Fine, miss out on all the fun. I’ll see you later.”

Archie and Betty turn to leave. Jughead remains on the periphery of the group, hovering at the entrance to scrutinize the window looking into the store.

“You coming, Jughead?” Archie asks.

Jughead looks at them, then to Veronica, and back to them. “You guys go ahead.”

If Betty and Archie are surprised, they don’t show it. “Alright, nerds!” Betty hollers. Archie produces a jaunty wave goodbye.

Once they step into the bookstore, Veronica is engulfed by the controversial musty book smell, which definitely would have sent Archie running in the opposite direction. Veronica wants to be annoyed that Archie and Betty abandoned her, but she is secretly relieved that she doesn’t have to rush. She can take her time perusing the titles of secondhand paperbacks and poring over each book summary. She expects Jughead to take off and hit the sci-fi section on the remote side of the store but he loiters near her, only a few steps away, as she explores the historical fiction section.

Veronica pretends to read the summary on the back of a tattered paperback, _The Last of the Mohicans_, which is unexpectedly challenging in the store’s dim lighting. “A lot on your mind tonight?” she asks, not looking up from the book in her hand.

Jughead picks up and shuffles the books on the display absentmindedly. “I don’t like the smell of old books, but I can tolerate it after a while. Secondhand books are far superior to buying new. The smell isn’t a dealbreaker.”

“A little late, but thanks for the input.”

“Can I talk to you about something?”

Veronica exhales, unaware she was holding her breath, and looks at him. Ah, this was why he chose the stuffy old bookstore over the pristine five-star hotel room. It comes as a relief when she correctly guesses his ulterior motive.

“As Betty’s friend, I am obligated to tell her anything you disclose to me.”

He scowls. “Forget I said anything.”

“I’m messing with you,” Veronica says, light and sickly sweet. “What’s up?”

He quiets for a second but does not relax, knuckles tapping incessantly on the wooden display table. He looks painfully distressed and tired, the darkness under his eyes a dead giveaway. Late nights editing, she can imagine. His mouth is a hard line, a telltale sign of resistance that he’s beginning to regret saying anything at all.

Veronica gives him a way out. “Is the video project giving you a hard time?”

He makes a dismissive wave, continues drumming his fingers on the table. “That’s practically finished.”

“Is it good?”

“Your part is good. A little too good, if I’m being honest,” he says, gaze shifting downward to meet hers. He looks ready to give the bad news, like he has to give the part to another actress because Veronica is somehow overqualified to play the part by sheer luck of nailing her casting audition.

“I couldn’t tear my eyes away from you,” he says, punctuating every word with an air of scrutiny. Even his compliments barely skirt past the threshold from bad to good.

“That’s what people say about train wrecks,” Veronica says pointedly.

“Not that kind. You’re... I could see your appeal.” His voice sounds somewhat strained, as if he’s only allowed to say one nice thing to Veronica every century, and this was clearly pushing it.

“Ooh, thank you, Jughead. A glowing critique.”

“I’m just saying. By comparison, I look like an asshole who can’t even be paid to deliver a genuine heartfelt message on camera. “

“Ironic, huh?”

“I know.”

They stand there, lingering, undisturbed. Reluctant smiles of comparable caliber on both sides, like those acting exercises where you have to mirror your partner.

Veronica reaches out to him and brushes his knuckles lightly. He does not draw back and it is enough to jolt Veronica out of the moment temporarily. She is stupidly reminded of the time when a shrink preached about the power of touch, physical contact as the secret ingredient in forging strong emotional bonds. She disagrees; there is no charge or undercurrent of electricity here. Then again, she is still wearing her wool mittens.

Veronica clears her throat and pulls back from him. “You can head back to the hotel. Pretense over.”

“You want to be left alone?” he asks warily. He seems to be overly cautious in his word choice, like he understands that he is the one intruding on her time.

“You want to stay? Browse books?”

“Why not,” he says with no conviction.

Veronica shrugs and turns toward the next shelf in her endeavor.

“Is it cool if I join? Or would you prefer I browse far away from you?”

She laughs breathily. “I don’t care what you do, Jughead. I know you don’t care for my literary taste anyway.”

“I care very much.”

There he goes again, she thinks. The tentative tone. The responses that could, technically, be interpreted either way, who can possibly tell?

Veronica tucks a paperback under her arm to free up her hands for intensive leafing through books. “I’m going to the second floor. Coming?”

Veronica tries to visit her mother whenever she can, but she has to admit that every return home feels like an unwelcome return to an old chapter of her past life. _Hasn’t this already been covered? Can we move on?_ It took four phone calls for Veronica to convince her mother that she would not be staying at their home, her family’s home, during her visit. _A hotel, mija? Why?_ Veronica pinches the bridge of her nose and lies through her teeth about wanting to have room service on call at ungodly hours after the hellish week she has been through. Her mother sounds dejected but she relents eventually.

The part was a little true. Veronica settles in the hotel bed after a self-indulgent meal. She picks up her copy of _Tender is the Night_ and reads the same page over and over before calling it quits. She reaches for her phone and reasons that scrolling on her IG feed for five minutes couldn’t hurt. Five minutes turn into ten, then twenty, and before she knows it, Veronica has accidentally stumbled onto some blogger’s think-piece on the shadowy dangers of Hiram Lodge’s business dealings. That cue is enough to get Veronica off her phone. She spends the next few minutes staring at the eggshell white shade of the hotel room’s ceiling.

She hears her phone ring from the nightstand and assumes it must be Miriam, always waiting in the wings to scrounge up a game plan for some PR damage control. It’s not Miriam. It’s Jughead. Veronica hesitates, but picks up the call anyway.

“Yes, Jughead?”

“It’s Jughead.”

“Yeah, I know. Are you with Betty? Or Archie?”

“I’m by myself. Are you by any chance free to watch a movie right now?”

“... No?” Veronica says, baffled. “What? Jughead, we’re not even in the same city right now. I told you I was visiting my mom this weekend. I’m getting ready for bed. Are you—”

Veronica stops herself in the nick of time. The last part of her response is left in the air like a manufactured cliffhanger. There is a following silence that makes Veronica think that he hung up. Then, laughter from the other line. Like there’s some inside joke that Veronica is not privy to.

“I’m sorry. I explained it poorly,” he says at last. No explanation, but more laughter. “Does your family have cable?”

“My hotel room does.”

“Turn on your TV. HBO is playing _Vertigo_ at eleven. Interested?”

Veronica wants to say no, just to be spiteful. But his invitation was appealing in its effort, maybe his shot at extending an olive branch.

“Well, how can I possibly refuse when you put it that way?”

“It’s not _Strangers on a Train_, but I figured it’s all the same to you anyway.”

“Haha. Although, I’m pretty bummed I won’t be getting your exceptional side comments for the duration of the film.”

“Oh, Lodge, you are in for a big surprise.”

“How?”

“Stay on the line,” he offers, earnest and a little too sincere. He sounds strangely vulnerable, reminding Veronica of the times he has played the boyish youth on screen.

“If you value intelligent input from yours truly,” he adds, deliberately undercutting his previous tone.

Veronica leans back again the headboard of the bed and reaches for the remote. “Why not?”

“That’s the spirit.”

“I probably can’t watch for long though.”

“Past bedtime?”

“I’m expecting a call from my publicist pretty soon.”

“At this hour? I’m sure your reputation can wait until morning.”

“It’s my dad,” Veronica says, killing the mood instantly. Family talk will do that. She regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth. She doesn’t talk about her dad to anyone, not even Betty. At this point, Betty and Veronica have an unspoken agreement to never discuss personal problems, namely their dysfunctional families.

“Well, you’re in luck. That’s my area of expertise. Hitchcock... and dads.”

A laugh escapes from Veronica. “Jughead, it’s fine. We don’t have to talk about it.” Veronica gets a text notification from Miriam: _Are you free to talk?_ “Ah, shit,” Veronica says aloud.

“You gotta go?” Jughead asks.

Veronica watches the opening credits for _Vertigo_ flash on the hotel room’s TV and decides this is the much more appealing choice. “Nope. My publicist can talk to me about my dad tomorrow.” Veronica says, switching the phone to speaker mode.

“Great. Now _we_ can talk about your dad.”

“God, please don’t,” Veronica says, fluffing up the pillow behind her back. “I’d rather listen to your inane side comments for the next two hours.”

“Sure. But, be careful for what you wish for.”

“Thanks, Jughead.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I won’t,” Veronica says, thinking how it actually won’t be mentioned in the future. This will remain between the both of them. A well-kept secret between two people who can barely stand to be in the same room.

Like every New Year’s party Veronica has been to, it gets out of hand prematurely. The clock still has minutes to go until midnight but the attendees are too drunk to properly keep track of the countdown. It’s simultaneously cold and hot from Veronica’s secluded spot near the patio door, where she is currently savoring the cool night breeze on her cheeks. She has lost sight of her friends hours ago, but it’s no matter to her. She takes careful sips from her Shirley Temple for the next two hours, already euphoric on everyone’s bright spirits.

People steadily trickle out of the party one by one after midnight. Veronica is content to stay until dawn if she had it her way. In the end, Veronica nearly misses her ride, lost in her people watching. Betty waves her down from across the room, teetering on her heels and clinging to a coat rack for additional support. “Veronica, let’s go! Our ride is already here.”

Remembering to grab her jacket, Veronica stumbles toward the door and sees a Prius idling in front of the driveway. Betty is holding the door open for her. Veronica picks up her stride and hops into the backseat, not realizing that backseat is partially occupied, by Jughead, nonetheless. Her knee jostles Jughead’s when Betty squeezes in the seat next to her. Veronica tenses, fearing some verbal retribution on his part. She thinks to ask to switch seats but the car has already taken off.

There is are no complaints or harsh words, only the blare of a department store ad on the radio station.

She sneaks a look to her left and waits for five streetlights to pass by, counting one. . . two. . . three. . . four. . . five. . . Then, aha! An illuminated picture of him. Jughead—his eyes closed, either dead asleep or feigning sleep, arms crossed, phone clutched in his hands. A peaceful vision, begging to be disturbed—that is, if they were friends, of course.

Veronica is the only person in the car who is still awake, save for the driver. When they hit a hard left turn, Jughead careens into her and ends up resting his head on her, confirming that he was actually dead asleep. Veronica freezes and tries not to make any sudden movements as if to not scare him, or herself. She stares straight ahead and focuses on watching the road. She does not feel any warmth from him, but she feels his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes in and out.

She’s not entirely sure why she feels so stressed about the seating arrangement during a thirty-minute car ride. They are not fighting, not that night, nor the previous days before. If Veronica has to speak honestly, she would say they were on good terms.

One instance from the party rings clear in her mind, demanding to be replayed over and over in her head. She remembers when she was caught in a one-sided conversation about the ethics of screenwriters’ unions with a self-proclaimed indie student director, nephew of one of the executive producers. Veronica was in no position to be hostile even if her brain was screaming at her to get out of this conversation as fast as humanly possible. Jughead was at the kitchen island, mixing himself a drink and within earshot of the whole thing. Veronica had mouthed _help me_ at Jughead several times whenever the nephew looked down at his phone to search for Twitter posts to verify his argument. She got Jughead’s attention on the third attempt. Sensing her panic, he had feigned cartoonish obliviousness, pointing to himself like _Who, me?_ Veronica had nodded emphatically, inadvertently leading the nephew to think she was agreeing with his stance. Jughead had nodded and wandered over to them, stopping in his tracks behind the nephew and within view of Veronica. Veronica had waited expectantly for Jughead to save her, only to watch Jughead flash her an unconvincing smile, offer a mocking salute, and walk off in the opposite direction. She thinks she could have imagined it, but she swears that he mouthed ‘_my hero_’ at her. The conversation thankfully reached its conclusion when the nephew had to stop and ask her, “What’s so funny?”, prompting Veronica to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She hadn’t even realized she was laughing.

Things can go good for a while, but it will inevitably get worse again when you take it for granted. A movie law of sorts, when the protagonist least expects it and feels least prepared to handle it. Veronica hits that bump right after she feels hopeful in her life again. She was starting to see results after enacting some serious lifestyle changes. Even Miriam had remarked that Veronica seemed happier than usual and told her to “keep up with the good work”, i.e. integrating so seamlessly into the cast, so well that it felt like she’s been an main cast member since season one. Things will backfire if you take it for granted. Veronica learns it the hard way.

A group of ten or so, some cast members and production assistants, huddle around the board. Some are observers, others are participants. They are playing their fifth round of The Resistance, a stupidly fun party game that devolves into shouting matches on a whim and a delightfully entertaining way to pass the time on set.

“I think the spy is...” Archie say, while everyone holds their breath.

“Spit it out!” a voice urges from behind him.

“Betty?” Archie says. He shrugs at Betty, who looks deeply disappointed as she puts her head in her hands.

Jughead lets out a loud whoop and nearly knocks his neighbor to the ground. “Wrong!”

Archie’s face crumples and the losing group erupts in audible groans.

Veronica and Jughead, the spies that round, grin at each other. She returns Jughead’s high-five with a matching enthusiasm. Her palm stings but the victory high is enough to make the pain bearable. “Well done sneaking under the radar, my friend,” he says.

“Can’t say the same for you,” Veronica quips.

“I know,” he says and pretends to dry his eyes.

“Glad to see you’re finally getting along with Veronica nowadays,” Archie says innocently.

Jughead coughs. “Your point?”

“I mean, it’s great to see how things have changed since you two first met. Your first impression was proven wrong.”

Jughead appears sorely offended for some reason. “We’re friends by proximity. She’s friends with Betty and she’s dating you.”

Archie continues, oblivious. “I’m just saying it took a long time for you to get over your initial dislike. It’s good now. I’m glad it’s settled, honestly.”

“Good,” Jughead says mockingly. “Next time I have some valid concerns, I will keep it to myself.”

“Alright. Fun’s over, boys,” Veronica interjects. “I don’t typically being appreciated being talked about when I’m right here.”

They back off. The production assistants look intensely relieved. Crisis averted, but unfortunately, the cue that the fun is over. The group disperses. Veronica observes Jughead stalk off to the catering tables. She follows, practically sprinting to keep up with his large strides.

“What was that all about it?” she presses.

He looks surprised to see her trailing beside him. “I don’t know. I might just be hungry right now.”

“Right,” she says skeptically.

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Something more substantial. As _friends_, I thought I deserve something a little better than a dismissive remark.”

He stops in his stride and stares at her like she said something wholly inappropriate, like a dirty remark that doesn’t even deign a response. Veronica hates that it wounds her more than she cares to admit.

“Why does it still bother you so much? After all this time?” Veronica asks, attempting to ignore how her voice slightly cracks at the last part, betraying her shaky bravado. “Outside of Betty and Archie, I spend more time with you than anyone else here.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. He chews his lip, lost in thought and deliberately avoiding her gaze.Then, he regards with an expression, his eyes softening, almost apologetic.

“That’s exactly it,” Jughead says.

“What?”

“We’ve been spending so much time together that I worry your habits are rubbing off on me. Why else would I make a blatant show of feuding with my friend with plenty of onlookers in public?”

“I’ve never done that.”

“Have you?” he says cryptically.

Veronica doesn’t want to lie, and she cannot say with absolute certainty her past self is not guilty of his charge. Instead, she pouts, bitter words dancing on the edge of her tongue. Two words, that’s all it took. Two words for Veronica to feel as if they had reverted to their former state, all the progress coming undone.

The Teen’s Choice Awards is most definitely not the pinnacle of prestige. Veronica has been to her fair share of Academy Awards, she would know. Everyone knows it, but it’s still a good time, i.e. good time to get drunk on booze at the afterparty. When you got enough champagne in your system, all awards shows look, taste, and feel the same.

Veronica could care less about the outcomes of the nominations. Their show is certainly not nominated for the biggest honor of the night. However, fan-favorite celeb couple Betty and Jughead—hashtag Jetty? or is it Jutty?—are excited to present the award for Best Actor in a Comedy or Best Actress in a Comedy, Veronica can’t remember. In any other case, Veronica is attending in person for Betty’s moral support.

Veronica is flitting back and forth from table to table. The intermissions are dreadfully overrun with people chattering about the absolute suspense of the outcome, which makes Veronica roll her eyes. It seems so put on, and that’s coming from someone who’s been in the entertainment business since childhood.

She misses the reveal of Best Actress entirely due to an ill-timed trip to the bar. She reassures herself that it’s fine, until she realizes that was the category she was supposed to be watching for, but it’s fine, it’s not a big deal, she hopes Betty won’t be disappointed with her... you know what, she should find Betty herself and congratulate her for her big moment. That would definitely make everything better and beats listening to her neighbor drone on and on about how so and so was snubbed.

The trip in search of some booze turns into a haphazard trip to the backstage area to find Betty. Veronica asks six people before she gets the desired info about Betty’s whereabouts: the private women’s restroom on the third floor. She treks to the third floor and spots Betty right away. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, not a thing out of place except Veronica is certain she saw her wiping her eyes daintily upon exiting the restroom.

“Betty, what’s going on?” Veronica asks, looking around the mainly deserted floor for any indication of trouble.

“Veronica? I’m so sorry... This isn’t a good time.”

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing—I mean, Polly’s going into labor right now,” Betty says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m taking a taxi to the hospital. I’ll call you later when I can.” She touches Veronica’s hand briefly before rushing down the stairs. Her tone is too measured and calm, and Veronica knows that Polly’s unexpected labor is not the underlying issue on hand.

Veronica stands there for a minute and checks her phone and sees no new notifications. She figures she should turn around and go back to the ceremony but some type of burning curiosity nudges her to investigate. She decides, what the hell, and pushes open the door to the lounge area of the restroom. She smells lavender soap first and sees Jughead second. He’s sitting slumped in one of the chairs, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. She hopes she still has time to withdraw undetected, but it’s too late. Jughead has already lifted his head and seen her.

“Of course. Who else?” he says to no one in particular, as if the universe is playing a cruel joke on him, placing her there, right in front of him. It’s the worst type of compliment a girl can get.

Veronica folds her arms across her chest. “What did you do?”

“I’m really not in the mood.”

“You never are.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he says flatly.

“Ah, the classic noncommittal response. Why aren’t you accompanying Betty to the hospital right now then?”

He lets out an exasperated laugh and runs his hand through his hair. “God, Veronica. Why don’t you ask Betty yourself?”

“She’s preoccupied with other things right now, namely her older sister’s impending delivery. You, on the other hand? You’re quite certainly available to answer a few questions right now.”

“I could, but I won’t. Needless to say, why is it that you are always around to insert yourself in situations that don’t pertain to you? Still itching to get back into your queen bee habits?”

Veronica twists her mouth. “I just want to find out what happened. Betty is my friend.”

“Yeah, everyone who speaks to you for more than five minutes knows, okay? It’s like you reinvented your entire personality around being Betty’s best friend. It’s no excuse to keep meddling in our relationship, unless there’s something else at play here.”

Veronica unfolds her arms, steps closer to the chair, forcing Jughead to look up at her to maintain eye contact. “And what are you accusing me of, Jughead? I’ll admit to being a nosy person, sure. I’m trying to be a better person and friend, but sometimes I get unpleasant—justified when your friend’s boyfriend acts like an ass all the time for no apparent reason. You claim that you can’t stand me because of my reputation or how fake I am, but the more you say it, I’m unconvinced.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, only stares up at her with an darkened expression that is a jumble of suspicion and impatience. He looks at her from the crown of her head to the bottom of her with the same expression. Veronica almost feels proud of being able to inspire this much animated resentment in another person.

“Well?” Veronica presses.

“You want to know what I think?” Jughead asks, his gaze unwavering.

“Go on, let’s hear it.”

“I think—I know that... more often times than not, when someone is this heavily invested in a relationship that they are not a participant in—it’s because they’re in love with one of the parties.”

Veronica wants to laugh and groan at the same time and it comes out as a guttural choking sound. She wants to deny it vehemently, knowing it would play right into his expectations. She’s surprised he has summoned the courage to present the egregious accusation in front of her.

“What now?” she says.

Jughead stays his course, firm on his stance. “I’m not joking, not entirely anyway.”

“Get out of your head, Jughead. Read too many trashy tabloids lately? That is the furthest thing from reality.”

He has the gall to look slightly offended at the accusation of a being a tabloid magazine purveyor. “I knew that you’d react this way.”

“Did you really?” Veronica mocks, stepping closer to him so that his knees almost knock into hers. Close enough that if he were to stand up, he couldn’t—not without crashing into her.

He glances at the door, then back to her. “Anyone would think the same. You’re overly invested in my relationship with Betty. Because... because you’re jealous.” He gives the accusation the same weight an actor does when reading a line with words difficult to pronounce. Maybe he’s just hearing the words strung in that particular order for the first time aloud.

“I’m jealous because I got feelings for Betty? News to me.”

He flinches. “No.”

That is enough to give Veronica some pause. They don’t say anything, silently intaking the implications of the true accusation. The commotion from the awards show is relegated to soft background noise. The applause makes a mockery of their performance.

“You,” Veronica whispers under her breath, “—you, fucking narcissist.”

She takes the reigns in this sick trial, stepping even closer and brushing up against his knees. “Was the kiss the breaking point between reality and fantasy for you? It’s not real, remember?”

“I’m aware. We’re actors.” He says it with the tired cadence of a rehearsed answer for a pushy interviewer.

It gives Veronica enough strength to push forward. “What is the issue here?”

He shrugs, a derisive smile playing on his lips. “I’d just like to point out if anyone had trouble distinguishing between reality and fantasy, it’d be the person who went off script.”

“I don’t recall you stepping in to stop it.”

His smile falters slightly. “You gotta be flexible. Part of the job.”

Veronica digs her heels into the carpet, places her hands on her hips, arches her brow coyly. “What does Betty think of your pet theory?”

“I haven’t told her.”

“Because?”

“Because I’m not the asshole you make me out to be.”

“Tell that to everyone in this cast. I’m partly relieved you managed to avoid dragging Betty into this. She has enough on her mind right now.”

“You always have to turn it back to Betty.”

She glares at him, incredulous. “Of course, Jughead. I’m trying to be a good friend. A better person. You should take notes.”

He stares up at her, grip on the chair tightening. “You’re no innocent party, Veronica.” He clears his throat. “Archie,” Jughead says slowly, deliberating over his next words. This answer is not as rehearsed as his previous accusation. “You’re using him. You know he likes you, really likes you. It’s clearly not reciprocated on your part but you string him along because you can’t stand being alone, or maybe you get some sick satisfaction in having someone fawn over your every breath and smile.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know Archie,” he says firmly. “Archie is my friend. Who do you think he confides in, when you shut him out or send him mixed signals?”

“You’re right.”

Jughead regards her neutrally. He knows she’s not done.

“I’m only with Archie until something better comes along. I’m a spoiled party princess who goes through friends faster than tampons. When I’m not burning through the friends at my disposal, I take lessons from daddy dearest on how to manipulate people by using my good ole family name. I’m only here to sleep my friend’s boyfriend because it’s the only thing that will give me that illicit thrill that I’ve been desperately craving—something I can’t get my mind off no matter how hard I try, because no amount of attention can ever satisfy me, especially when I constantly think about how to get the unavailable guy to like me back when he always alternates between hot and cold with me, because I’m the type of girl who wants what she can’t have. All wrong, but who the fuck cares, right? It’s. Not. Real.”

Veronica stops, her voice breathless. She hadn’t expected herself to go on talking for so long with any interruptions.

His expression is no longer neutral. He looks repulsed, an angry affect coloring his features, but also disconcerted, like he never fully realized the extent of her ability to rattle him to his core.

“Are you done?”

Veronica opens her mouth and tries to deflect with a timely witticism, but she feels herself falling, her center of gravity having shifted forward—or rather, pulled forward. At first, she thinks Jughead has attempted to get up from his cushioned position, catching both of them, through the sheer consequence of close physical proximity.

But she’s moving forward, not backwards. To brace herself for impact, her hands plummet onto his shoulders. Her knees follow in a synchronized lower arc, landing on the chair. She expects him to made a snide comment on how all that champagne has gone to her head and sabotaged her sense of balance. But he doesn’t say anything. Neither of them do. He is still looking up to fixate on her. Only this time, the space separating them rests between their shoulders. His hands, the instigator of the unwarranted physical movement, settle on the outer edges of her waist.

She can see him swallow thickly, his eyes betraying nothing. Veronica can’t decipher whether he meant it, or he’s just as surprised as her.

“When?” Veronica manages to get out, her voice unsteady on the single syllable.

Veronica can’t get the rest of the words out. They’re lingering so close to each other now, and she feels she has to stay this close just to hear his answer. Their foreheads are touching and she swears she can detect the sweat on his brow.

“I don’t know.”

Jughead is the first to bridge the gap between them. He breathes in, loud and uncertain, and then kisses her like he’s taking his fair share of what was offered to him the last time. She opens her mouth in return to receive the warmth from his tongue and savors the goosebumps that come from his hands traveling down her spine.

Veronica decides to barrel ahead. What revered actress hasn’t gone off script and done a little improv on the spot? She reaches for his tie, the one Betty bought for his birthday. She knows because she was there when Betty picked it out. Black swirls on midnight blue fabric. Jughead lets her undo it all the way, his eyes trained on her lips the entire time. The tie comes undone with frantic tugging and maneuvering. A congratulations is in order when Veronica holds the tie between her fingertips and drops it on his lap. When she brushes the top buttons of his shirt to proceed forward, he grabs her wrists. Veronica’s face falls slightly, thinking he has changed his mind. She wonders if he ever looks at Betty with the same disapproving expression when he says no. Perhaps it’s just reserved for her.

Veronica expects him to withdraw with a sorry ‘No, Veronica.’

He’s sorry.

“I’m not sorry,” Veronica blurts out. It sounds meaner than she intended, but she doesn’t care. It’s Jughead. He’s mean to her and she wants to be mean. She desperately wants to be mean, to match his strong dislike for her. She can be mean if she wants. She knows how. But she can’t, because he expects—no, he wants her to be mean.

He doesn’t stop, nor does he object. He only watches Veronica with a guarded look, as if he’s truly seeing something in her that has come to light now that there is only the two of them in the same room. In privacy, he is more watchful and observant, which makes Veronica even more restless to challenge his expectations.

She initiates the kiss this time. It deepens into a messy but reciprocal kiss. Both of them are greedy, drawing it out with small impatient actions. Each putting in the work to prolong it until the performance is perfectly synchronized. Veronica tangles her fingers through his hair to hold the back of his head. Jughead grips her waist and comes dangerously close to brushing her inner thigh as his hand snakes underneath all the layers of taffeta of her dress.

It doesn’t feel wrong, as much as it sounds wrong. The two are making sounds loud enough to startle any passerby outside. Veronica’s breaths are coming in short and fast, and she can tell that Jughead is doing the same by the way his breaths feel on her throat.

When they break apart, the daze of the preceding events refuses to drift away, persisting and lingering within them. The gravity of the situation still not fully registering with either of them until the following morning. They can blame it on whatever they want, but Veronica knows she has to grapple with the unfamiliar concept that Jughead, in fact, does not hate her as he had purported all along. Even worse—the realization that makes her heart heavy—is that Veronica enjoys his attention more than she cares to admit.

Veronica is ashamed to admit that she can’t stay away. Guilt is a strong motivator, but her thrill-seeking tendency, or whatever it was that makes her a horrible person, is a stronger one. She wonders if Jughead understands it too. He can’t stay away either.

They do not speak about awards night, even if it takes all of Veronica’s self control to remain unaffected.

They do not speak about Betty or Archie. The only safe topics to talk about include: Old Hollywood films, author book readings, obscure pop culture references, and what’s on the menu for lunch.

Veronica doesn’t know what to tell herself anymore. The more she sits on Jughead’s words, she begins to believe him. Maybe she hasn’t really changed at all.

Two months pass and Veronica convinces herself that she can move on with enough willpower. The guilt only becomes unbearable when she meets Jughead’s eyes across a room, always by accident and always mortifying. Their verbal exchanges are excessively polite, but their silent exchanges have a loaded, tense quality to them. Mixed signals. Veronica doesn’t know how to behave, how to play the part of innocent party with their friends in attendance.

“Archie and I have to tell you guys something serious. We don’t mean to ambush you two like this, but I don’t see any way around it.”

Jughead is sprawled across the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table before Betty’s announcement. With the mention of “something serious,” he sits up straighter to match Veronica’s prim posture beside him. Jughead and Veronica exchange twin looks of bewilderment. Neither wants to admit they are imagining the worst, especially considering Archie’s grim expression and Betty’s erratic fidgeting.

Betty clasps and unclasps her hands, then looks at Archie for guidance. Archie averts her gaze. He has been unusually silent that day and the day before. Now, he is entirely too distracted with the lint on his jeans.

“If you two killed someone, please don’t say it. I certainly don’t want to be an accessory for manslaughter,” Veronica says, nervous smile on display. Her heart is starting to thrum loudly. She wonders if this is it. The inevitable confrontation, in which their previous transgressions come to light in a climatic showdown.

The guilt is absent from Jughead’s disposition. He is either oblivious and in denial about the potential repercussions. “Agreed. Unless... are you two breaking up with us?” Jughead says. “Definitely falls under the ‘serious’ category.”

“No,” Archie says abruptly, the edge in his voice enough to cause Veronica to look troubled. He backtracks quickly. “I’m sorry. I know you guys mean well, but this really is not a joking matter.”

“Well, say it now. Then we joke about it later,” Jughead says, teeth baring in an uneasy smile. Veronica tries not to notice how his knuckles have gone white as he grips the seat cushions of the couch.

Betty is the picture of worry. Veronica can see that Betty had stayed up all night. This matter must have been weighing heavily on both of them. She can’t remember anything significant that happened the past few days. All of them had been busy with reshoots and working overtime.

“We have been horrible friends. You two deserve so much better, and that’s why I—that’s why Archie and I wanted to come clean.”

Veronica can’t hide her shock. It feels like some sick joke where they try to use some warped form of reverse psychology to obtain their confessions. All that is missing is the harsh lighting of an interrogation room.

Jughead’s mouth has fallen open, something which he tries to conceal with a hand masking an inappropriate yawn.

Betty takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as if counting down mentally. “Archie and I kissed. Two days ago. Nothing else happened, I promise you. We have been hanging out together a lot lately, especially with all of our late night reshoots, and we got carried away. Even if nothing else happened, what we did was wrong, and I am so sorry, sincerely sorry.”

Archie looks solemn as he comes forward. “I’m sorry for betraying our friendship like this. Betty and I decided to come clean because there’s no point in hiding it. We just want to move past it. We understand if you two are angry. ”

Veronica has to admit this was something she had least expected from them. Now that it was in the open, maybe she and Jughead could confess their wrongdoing. But... this felt different. Betty and Archie had taken up the noble effort to own up to their wrongs right from the get-go while Veronica and Jughead had conspired to keep it between them, letting it never see the light of day. Would they have ever told their respective partners if the time was right? Doubtful. If anyone was going to look more guilty, it was them. It was always them, the two of them dancing around the unspoken rule between friends.

Veronica locks eyes with Jughead, hoping he sees the same thing she does. This is their opportunity to atone for their own bouts of unfaithfulness, even if drastically too late. Jughead remains stoic, his brow furrowed. Veronica clears her throat. “In that case, I would like to say something—“ she begins, looking at Jughead, who has become visibly alarmed.

Jughead stands up quickly, shins bumping into the legs of the coffee table. “I need some air, excuse me.”

“Jughead—“ Veronica says, but she already hears the apartment door slam shut. His exit means she can no longer present her confession about their kiss, their equivalent of wrongdoing, in good faith. _Fuck._

That night, she calls Jughead seven times and gets voicemail each time. It takes an eighth call for Veronica to hear him respond with a terse, “What do you want?”

“Why did you leave so abruptly?”

“I felt sick. Did you stay for long?”

“It doesn’t matter. We have to tell them in person. It’s only fair since they came clean. We’ll definitely look worse for saying anything earlier, but I don’t care anymore.”

“I know, I was going to. Tomorrow. It’s just... are you surprised?” Jughead asks, uneasiness shading his words.

“Surprised about what?” Veronica asks.

“I just—I never saw it coming and I think that’s what I can’t get over. Did you have any suspicions at all?”

“Please. That’s what you’re hung up on? Don’t you at least feel guilty for what we did?”

“It can be two things,” he says coolly. “You’re dodging my question.”

“Well, Betty has always—“

“Don’t say it,” Jughead interrupts, his voice low and quiet, sounding pained over the phone.

She realizes immediately she misstepped; Betty’s childhood crush on Archie has always been a sore point for him. But his tone makes Veronica angry and she can’t help her pettiness from poking through her demeanor. “Look, you asked—“

“Don’t,” he repeats. “I have to go. You should talk with Archie.”

They stand across from each other, out of view from the public’s eye by the trailer looming behind them. They talk in hushed whispers, like the guilty conspirators they are.

“What happens next?” Veronica asks. She mostly addresses this question to herself.

“We go our separate ways. Or we don’t.”

“Leaning towards the former or latter?”

“Neither is relevant. It’s the timing.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Veronica says coldly. “I was asking about which was more likely, in terms of probability. If you had to place your bets on the outcome.”

Her voice sounds strange to her ears, so formal. She sounds like she’s predicting a television show’s chances on getting a season renewal or getting the axe.

“It hurts a lot less when you can blame it on things outside of your control,” he goes on. He does not elaborate or offer a satisfactory answer.

“Things out of our control,” Veronica echoes, thinking about audiences blaming networks executive for cancellations rather than the quality of their beloved shows. It feels utterly unfair.

“Do you think our friendship is... you know, salvageable?” Veronica asks. She mentally prepares herself for the worst—the expected answer, a harsh and resounding ‘no.’

Betty doesn’t meet her eyes right away. She studies the swirling bubbles in her coffee mug. She sighs, then looks at Veronica. “I don’t know.”

Veronica nods, mouth pressed together in dissatisfaction. She takes a sip of her latte and tries not to make a face. Everything tastes sour in her current mood. The uncertainty is practically worst than outright rejection.

To Veronica’s surprise, she sees Betty reach out and take her hand in hers. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it and I always come back to the same answer. It can’t be right now, but I want it to be, eventually. Do you?”

Veronica stares at her. “Yes. But two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“No, it does not,” Betty agrees. She does not offer a reassuring platitude, and fair enough.

Five months later, Betty and Archie get together. Veronica is informed by Betty and Archie individually. Betty first, then Archie the next day.

Betty tells Veronica to be completely honest when she asks Veronica if she’s angry. Veronica is truthful when she says she’s not.

“Why did you look so shocked when I told you?” Betty had asked.

“I’m just surprised it took this long,” Veronica had replied.

Betty shrugs and segues into the next line of questioning. “So, anything new with you?” She does not have to say the rest for Veronica to understand her intentions.

“Nope,” Veronica replies and folds her hands together.

“Really?”

“Nope.”

“I want you to know that I would be fine. And so would Archie, he said so himself. It’s messy, of course, but we could make it work and I think—“

“Betty.”

“Hm?

“Betty, I know. Now tell me all about your audition for that shiny new TV pilot. You’re not seriously thinking of jumping ship, right?”

Betty’s eyebrows raise slightly. She adjusts her ponytail and obliges with the shift in topic, much to Veronica’s relief.

Out of all the places in the world, Veronica certainly had not predicted herself standing outside the door to Archie’s shared apartment with Jughead. Sure, she could have gotten Archie to retrieve her forgotten belongings, a bag full of her toiletries and her passport (the real reason she was here), but Archie was out of town for the whole week and Veronica couldn’t wait for him to return. Yeah, maybe she got a little frazzled upon realizing she would encounter Jughead during her mission to get her passport, and it’s not like they have been avoiding each other. She sees him all the time at work. But they haven’t been not _not_ avoiding each other.

Veronica raps lightly on the door a second time after waiting a couple of minutes. She starts to rummage through her purse for her phone when the door cracks open.

Jughead appears. Sporting a striped button up, gray tie, and dress pants, hair combed back. He doesn’t seem surprised to see her. He doesn’t seem anything really—not happy, not angry either.

“Hi. Did you get my text? Archie must have told you that—“ Veronica asks nervously, hoping she’s not coming an inopportune time.

“Hi Veronica,” he acknowledges and swings the door wide open as the invitation to enter. “I assume I don’t need to show you where Archie’s room is.”

Veronica sweeps past him and tries not to notice that he appears to be following her and acting the role of the genial host.

“How’s life?” Veronica asks.

“Alright,” he says curtly.

“Just alright?” Veronica says, hoping to get a substantial response out of him. “Not even with that hot date coming up?”

He gives her a funny look. “What makes you say that?”

“Your outfit?”

“Oh.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs as he says, “No date.”

“That’s too bad.”

He shoots her a sideway glance as they walk down the hallway to Archie’s room. Veronica steps inside while Jughead hovers near the door. “Uh, let me know if you need anything.”

He pauses, mulling over his next words. “If you don’t have anywhere else to be, I’d like to show you something.” Then, he takes off before Veronica can get in a reply.

The search for the forgotten bag with toiletries and missing passport does not take Veronica very long. It was nestled in the closet, just as Archie had guessed. The next part though is much more difficult. Veronica paces around the room, hopping over Archie’s heaps of clothing strewn on the floor, before deciding _what the hell let’s just get this over with_. She walks out to find Jughead sitting at the dining table, hunched behind his laptop. He looks up when he sees her approaching, her steps barely audible on the carpet.

“No plans later?” he asks.

“No plans,” Veronica replies. “Even if I did, I’d definitely postpone them to see what you’re so anxious to show me.”

“Remember my video project?” he asks and pulls out one of the chairs next to him.

Veronica takes the seat and knits her eyebrows together. “The one intended as an anniversary gift? I had assumed it had been scrapped in... you know, the aftermath of everything.”

Jughead offers a sheepish smile, the hint of a friendly overture playing at the corners of his mouth. “It was. I actually finished editing most of it. It seems like a waste that you don’t to get to see your part.”

Veronica laughs. “You’re going to make me watch my recording, like offer me some tips about my taped audition? I hate that.”

“I showed it to Betty.”

“You did? Why?”

“I thought she would appreciate it and she did. She definitely cried. But don’t tell her I told you that.”

“Still wanna watch?”

Veronica sighs loudly. “If the director insists.”

Veronica expects herself to be embarrassed and she certainly is. She tries not to cringe, but her part is a mishmash of mawkish sentimentality and bubbly overeagerness, like the new kid in class who desperately wants to be liked. She talks about her friendship with Betty an excessive amount, but there are also candid videos of the four of them goofing off on set and off set—something she doesn’t recall as being part of the project. It must have been something Jughead added later on. When it’s over, Jughead watches her reaction patiently.

“Well?” he prompts.

“Couldn’t tear my eyes away,” Veronica says finally.

“Nice,” he says sardonically, taking offense.

“No, I’m serious,” Veronica affirms. “I liked it. I’m glad to have been a part of it, and you should be proud of your work.”

Veronica’s mind starts leaping steps ahead, trying to mitigate the consequences of the present. She stands up quickly, blood rushing to her head, offering up her hand to Jughead. Maybe this was the closure she was looking for—needed to move on and start anew. If this was the last time they spoke honestly, free from the trappings of work and social niceties, that would have been fine with Veronica. She breathes out and waits for him to return the gesture. One handshake, one quick farewell to stamp out the feelings.

He stares up at her for a moment, then rises slowly to his full height. He makes contact with her hand, his palm warm, his hand large enough to envelop hers. He idles there, eyes awash with an admirable intensity as he watches her.

“Veronica,” Jughead says, like her name is the only word that has her tethered to him. He says it like he wants to say ‘_Don’t leave_’.

“After everything, I wanted to abandon the project, but something made me go back to watch it. Watching the video was hard for me too. I stayed up so many late nights editing it, and I always circled back to the same clips. Of you. I don’t think I ever really hated you, and if I did, I got over it pretty damn fast. And I’m truly am sorry for how I treated you as a barrier to my relationships with Betty and Archie. I know the timing seems way too coincidental, with Betty and Archie getting together, but I swear I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how to approach you. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to go our separate ways, especially not now or in the future. So... what do you say?”

Veronica takes a deep breath, trying to ignore how her legs have gone unsteady and how her nerves have materialized faster than a case of stage fright. Heartbeat skyrocketing, she leans in and grips his hand in hers.

“You asshole. What took so long?” she manages to get out as she pulls him toward her, one hand on his collar and the other intertwined with his outstretched hand, effectively dissolving their handshake.

When they collide, it’s so much more different than their staged one, or their illicit one. This one feels like all the pieces coming together like putting the finishing touches on a lengthy script. Her mouth arrives on his with a fevered precision, like she has done it before but has to relearn the ropes due to lack of rehearsal. She kisses him, daring him to react and respond to her performance. He meets her in enthusiastic response, his teeth accidentally knocking into her teeth with a swift movement. They each pull back a little in shared laughter, allowing the air to replenish the space between them.

When he holds her face between his fingertips, she feels heat blooming in her cheeks and she knows he feels it too, with the way he presses light kisses from her cheeks to her eyelids to the bridge of her nose to the center of her mouth, as if diffusing the warmth to all points on her face. His thumb traces the upward curve of her brow and she can’t shake how exhilarating the touch feels. He watches her with a bright gaze, each passing moment promising an intensity of admiration greater than the last. She is seen and perceived in a way that she has always been striving to reach.

“Oh my god,” Veronica suddenly blurts out and starts laughing.

“What?” he asks, distracted by her change in demeanor.

“It’s funny because I just realized I’ve become one of those actresses who get cozy with their director. Hilarious.”

Jughead bursts into laughter. “Lodge, please don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

“It doesn’t bother you anymore? You really are a changed man, Jughead,” Veronica teases.

Jughead shrugs and perches on the edge of the dining table, his hands firm at Veronica’s hips. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her the entire time. “What can I say? I was living in denial. You’re the type of girl I like,” he says, grinning.

“Your girl, huh? Say that again. I wanna hear it a second time.”

Jughead rolls his eyes, playful. This time without malice. “Fine.”

“That’s more like it, Jones.”


End file.
